Betrayed By Those Loved Best
by Lesera128
Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor and is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.
1. Ch 1: Bested by a Fenderbender

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

A/N: As promised, a new story, a new start, and a new way to torture my readers (old and new). For those who have been waiting for this story, some of you will know that it was inspired by certain elements of my other tale "Buried with the Bones." Although - particularly from the viewpoint of the first chapter - it may seem like this is a sequel to that story, it's not. I repeat, this is NOT a sequel to "Buried with the Bones", but is something that readers should assume stands on it's own two feet (translation: while there are some similarities to characterizations established between this story and the other, make no assumptions about past character history, personal relationships, and/or their motivations). Constructive criticism is not only welcomed, but encouraged. However, annoying and useless comments are summarily ignored, anyway, so my advice is don't even bother posting them. All exclusions, disclaimers, and standard warnings apply. Now, let's see what happens...~

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><p>Ch 1: Bested by a Fender-bender<p>

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><p><span>FEBRUARY 2000<span>

Seeley Booth knew it. He knew it before he even walked through the garish faux mahogany wood doors of the establishment. Yes, he knew very early on that he really, really hated this particular restaurant. It wasn't even really appropriate to refer to it as a restaurant, Booth thought. The Bungalow Alehouse was located in the Potomac Mills area on the Prince William Parkway, just to the west of the junction that he used to pick up the Jefferson Davis Highway that took him home to his small apartment in the DC suburb of Woodbridge. In some ways, it was your typical sports bar and grille - dirty red and brown brickwork trying to give the place grittier and more historical feel that was actually true, while light from the various flatscreen TVs offered dull illumination as a by-product of streaming every possible sporting event from baseball and football to hockey and soccer on its myriad of screens. Recreated street light fixtures hung over the bar, while the small seating area was littered with a mixture of free-standing dark wood tables and chairs and an even smaller number of high-backed dark wooden booths. A number of pool tables and dart boards stood ready to be utilized by those individuals who were not there to watch sports and/or to drink. The goldenrod/mustard colored walls tended to depress a person if their attention wasn't quickly drawn away by the eclectic mixture of odd wall decor that had been haphazardly tacked up throughout the bar.

Booth sat staring at what he believed to be the most garish of all the wall decorations - a stuffed deer head that stared back at him, seeming to mock him for agreeing to be waylaid into coming to this place once more even though he hated it. _But, that's what he always does_, Booth thought wryly. _Because that's just how he is. And, while I'm still not real clear on how it happened, when was the last time he guilted me into coming here, and I actually said _no?

Glancing down at his half-empty pint glass, Booth shook his head with a sigh. _God, I really don't like this place._

In reality, while the Bungalow Alehouse did serve food, the majority of people who went there didn't come to eat the homemade Guinness stew or baked crab dip. Instead, it was a well-known place frequented by a number of men and women in the 20s and 30s who liked to drink, talk, and score a hook up. However, despite the fact that Booth wasn't really clear _which_ tradition had been cited as the latest reason as to why he had allowed himself to be guilt-tripped into another visit to this place that Booth didn't really, really didn't like, despite whatever reason had gotten him to make the agreement, he, eventually, _had _made a promise. Glancing at his watch, Booth sighed again in annoyance, as he realized that he had already spent the past twenty-five minutes trying to keep that promise to no avail.

_Late,_ Booth thought. _How can he be late *again*? You know, you'd think considering what the guy does for a living that he'd understand the importance of being at least relatively on time. But, no-_

To his left, a slight shuffling suddenly drew Booth's attention. He glanced up quickly, and he saw a petite red-head attempting to be as stealth-like as possible in her movements. Booth mentally groaned as he realized he was about to be hit on _again_ by another girl who was far too young, far too shallow, and looking far too hard for too good a time to be of much interest to him. However, as he sadly glanced down at his near empty pint and sadly thought that his beer was almost gone, Booth realized – could he really blame the redhead when he looked at things from her perspective? After all, Booth was a guy who was sitting alone in a bar – and, particularly since he was sitting alone in *this* bar, that's what guys who wanted to hook up did, right? He knew what he must've looked like to other people in the bar. A guy like him, sitting alone in the bar - he had to just be waiting to make his move on the right girl. Booth knew he certainly looked the part. At barely a day over thirty, he still cut a pretty damn good figure. He had only been out of the Rangers for a couple of months, after all, and while he'd cut back on the PT, he still hit the gym on a regular basis to keep up his endurance for when he knew he'd have his ass up at the crack of dawn running once more as a part of his new training regimen. So, Booth knew what he looked like, and he knew he really couldn't blame the redhead for her aggressively proactive behavior. But, on the other hand, she also happened to be the fourth girl in the past half-hour who hadn't taken an obvious hint that Booth wanted to be left to his lonesome when she had first tried to make eye contact with him and failed. Nor, did she understand that when he politely declined the waitress bringing over a pint 'with the lady's compliments' that it meant 'thanks, but no thanks.' Booth was afraid he was going to have to say something that might be construed as slightly rude as he eyed the red-head's slow movements out of the corner of his eye.

_This is the *last* time that he's going to drag me here,_ Booth thought to himself. _I don't care what random made up traditions he pulls out of his ass, he can just by me a six pack next time. And, I don't really care what other type of news he has to tell me. I'm not coming here again. I hate this friggin' place, and this is the last time. Seriously, this is it. Done. Finished. Finito._

Sighing a heavy sigh as Booth knew the redhead seemed to have finally gathered enough courage to make her move, Booth were slightly surprised when a blur of blue buzzed past her and threw himself into the empty seat on the opposite side of the booth which he currently occupied. At the unexpected movement, the redhead let out a small yelp, stared at the source of her ruined plans with annoyance clearly evident on her face, and then reluctantly turned around and conceded defeat with a large scowl present on her face as she gave up and walked away.

Laughing a bit as Booth realized what had just happened, Booth pointed at his friend and laughed slightly. "I take it back. I take it _all _back."

"Take what back?" came the simply inquiry.

"You've got impeccable timing," Booth said with a nod at the red-head who was now glaring daggers at Booth's companion from the opposite side of the bar.

Tim Sullivan laughed a hearty laugh as he reached for the list of draft beers and other drink specials that sat tucked in front of Booth between a bottle of ketchup, a bottle of Heinz vinegar, and the salt and pepper shakers. With a waggle of his eyebrows, Sully said, "Yeah, well, that's what they all tell me. I have great timing... _all _the time." After Sully took a few seconds to scan the list, he set it down and gestured for their waitress.

As soon as Sully had ordered, Booth looked at him with a straight face and said, "So, why do you even bother any more?"

"With what?" Sully said, playing with one of the warped cardboard coasters that sat unoccupied on the top of their wooden table. It had clearly seen better days, becoming frayed with repeated use. Sully took his nail and continued to separate the layers of cardboard that had been begun by someone else at some point in the coaster's glory days.

"We must've been here a hundred times, and you always order the same damn beer. By this point, I'm just wondering—why bother looking at the damn menu when you know you're gonna get a pint of the Magic Hat Odd Notion?" Booth asked, a bit of annoyance creeping into his voice at the illogical thought of Sully going through such repetitious and unnecessary motions.

Sully shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe I'll see something that I think I'll like better one of these days and order something different. You never know, Booth. Once of these days, I'm such a wild and crazy guy, I might just surprise you."

"Sure, sure," Booth said, finishing what was left of his beer in a single gulp. He set down the empty glass and then sighed, "You know, if you didn't enjoy that damn mild ale as much as you do, you know I wouldn't let you drag me here. I _hate_ this place, Sul. I _hate _it."

"You know, I've never understood that about you," Sully said, shaking his head. "It's got a great drink selection, cheap prices, just about any game you'd want to watch on TV, and is just a hop, skip, and a jump from how you get home when you're coming back from Quantico. You should _love _this place."

"Okay, maybe that explains why I _should _like it - setting aside the fact that I kinda sorta haven't really started making the commute to the Academy because, bone brain, trainees don't commute to the Academy, but live in the dorms on site - but it's also a meat market in here, Sully. And, considering the fact I slept about ninety minutes last night because it was my night with Parker, and I had the baby last night and had to spend the entire time walking a colicky seven-week old, going out trolling for girls in a place like this is really the last thing I want to do right now. All I want to do is sleep, Sul. As in, my face flat on a pillow collecting a respectable puddle of drool because I've been sleeping in the same position for far too long since I'm too exhausted to move because I'm dead-ass tired."

"Hmmm, I seem to be sensing some hostility there, Booth," Sully said, looking at his friend. "What's got you so cranky, huh? 'Cause I know it's not just the thing with Baby Booth," Sully mused. Booth stared at him, glanced at the clock, and then it dawned on Sully what was really irking Booth - aside from the sleep deprivation and the fact that Sully had convinced him to come to the Bungalow. "Ahh, okay. I got it," Sully said with an understanding nod. "So, is this your way of telling me you're pissed off that I was late?" Sully asked. "Because, if it is, I'm sorry, but it really wasn't my fault this time - and I'm not just saying that. I _really_ do have a legitimate excuse this time, since, you know, I can't really help it if a call takes longer than I think it would. Sometimes triaging an auto accident can take longer than you might think it would take, and you're right, it does wreck havoc with the social schedule. But, there was this really bad pedestrian versus motorcycle crash over in Anacostia, and it took me longer than I thought it would. Now, I'm sorry that I was late, Booth. But, I'm really glad you stayed, and there is a bit of good news that's directly related to that, which is why I really wanted to get you to come out - even if it's just for a little bit - besides the fact that I owe you are celebratory round to mark you getting into the Academy."

"And, what's that?" Booth asked blankly.

"Well, since I won't be answering calls anymore, me being able to use that as an excuse for my perpetual tardiness won't be doable, and, even more importantly, the really good news is that I shouldn't be as unpredictable a date as I have been in the past, so you're social schedule should get a lot better looking with me on your arm for date nights—"

"Wait," Booth said, suddenly stopping his friend. "What do you mean 'won't be a problem anymore'?" Narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Sully, Booth said, "Did they finally wise-up and fire you, Sully? Because, I gotta tell you, I'm kinda surprised it took FEMS this long to finally figure out what a crack paramedic you actually are."

"The preferred nomenclature is EMT, smartass," Sully said, taking the coaster that he had been playing with and tossing it playfully at Booth's head.

"Paramedic, EMT? What's the difference?" Booth said, a twinkle in his eye as he caught the coaster with a sharp flick of his wrist. "Don't you guys like to wear those tight blue uniforms of yours while you run around with the sirens blaring just to get attention?"

"Oh, yeah," Sully said. "And, remind me again, Booth- Army, Marines? What's the difference?" Don't you guys like to wear those ugly ass fatigue uniforms of yours that could even make People's Sexiest Man Alive look like a dog catcher while you're all trying to trying to run around scaring people by scowling at them?"

"You're just jealous because I look better in green than you do in blue," Booth laughed, starting to feel a bit more relaxed now that Sully was here, and Booth wasn't alone in the bar.

"Maybe," Sully said. But, he stopped when he reached into his pocket and withdrew a crumpled envelope. "But, from here on out, we're even-steven, buddy. And, while I did drag your ass out here to congratulate you on be accepted to the ranks of Playschool for G-men, I also wanted to tell you that you won't be doing it alone, my friend."

As soon as Booth glanced at the envelope, he knew what it was even before he opened it to pull out the well-worn form letter that stared back at him of familiar looking letterhead. He glanced up at Sully and said, "No!"

Grinning, Sully said with a firm nod, "Oh, yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I wasn't good enough to get in on the first pass like you were, Mr. Hotshot," Sully said, taking his pint glass from their waitress who had returned during the progression of their conversation. "I got wait-listed, and I didn't want to tell you that I got in unless it was a done deal."

"Damn!" Booth said, his eyes a light with happiness. "So, are you telling me what I think you're telling me?"

"If you think this is my way of telling you I'm gonna kick your ass in everything while we're in the same class at the FBI Academy over the next six months, than the answer is... hell yes," Sully grinned.

Gesturing to their waitress, Booth pointed and indicated his desire for another round. A new wave of energy washed over him as he said, "Well, damn, if that doesn't make this a great night, I don't know what does, Sul. That is fantastic!"

"I thought you might like that tidbit of news," Sully said.

Handing him back the envelope, Booth said, "You never told me you wanted to be an agent, Sul."

"Well, to be honest, until you started talking about it, I didn't know I wanted to do it either," Sully said before he took a sip of his beer. He then narrowed his eyes as he continued, "But, it's not like you don't need someone to watch your back and make sure your ass stays out of trouble. And, besides, I was kinda getting bored with the whole EMT thing. I've been doing it for almost five years. It's sorta 'been there, done that, got the t-shirt', right? So, I, uh… I'm just ready for something new, and the FBI Academy seemed as good a thing as anything else."

At this Booth chuckled. He nodded his thanks when the waitress returned with a fresh pint of Yuengling. Raising it, Booth saluted his friend as he said, "Well, then, here's to us. Congrats on me for getting in and congrats to you for waking up this morning and deciding you wanted to be an FBI agent when you grew up."

Sully nodded, "Amen to that, Brother Booth. Amen to that."

The pair then clinked their glasses happily, and as Booth drank his pint, he vowed to finish the drink, say goodbye to his friend, and then call it a night, because, after all – as he had said, it had been a long day.

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><p>A couple of hours later, Booth sighed with exhaustion clearly evident in his bearing as he climbed into his compact Jeep Cherokee SUV. The black SUV wasn't the car he really wanted—in many ways, it was too small. He'd always wanted a bigger car, either a pick up or a full-size SUV. But, on his meager post-discharge budget, the used SUV was the best he could do while satisfying his need for a car that could transport Parker's car seat safely (which nixed the pickup idea) and assuaged some of his desire for getting as close to the car he really wanted. It wasn't perfect, but, for now, it would do.<p>

After his second beer, while Booth had kept his silent promise and not ordered any more, despite Sully's constant encouragement to do so with the promise of splitting a cab fare, Booth knew he was probably too tired to be driving. But, he was only a few miles from his apartment, and he figured that if he kept the A/C on high and blasted some 80s music loud enough, he should be able to stay awake the ten minutes it would take to get back home. Glancing at the clock, Booth saw it was still relatively early—only 9:45pm. But, he also knew he had to pick up the baby the next day from Rebecca.

_This probably isn't the best way to be doing the co-parenting thing_, Booth thought. _He __needs to be in one place when he's getting into the routine Becks and I are trying to get him onto, but I can't help it. I can't stand being away from him, and I'm just happy Becks agreed to the every other day schedule with me taking him and her picking him up so we can each have some separate bonding time. I guess I should just be glad she didn't breastfeed him or else she might've used that as an excuse to keep me from him, too_, Booth thought to himself. Knowing that the following day was his to spend with the baby, and that he wouldn't really be sleeping when he had Parker, Booth knew time to sleep would be at a premium the following day. If he wanted to get any decent shut-eye, it was now.

Thus, Booth was in the process of thinking about the best way to return home, and he had decided it was probably best to go with the route that consisted primarily of traveling on the John Hanson Highway, when he put the car into reverse and started to back out of his parking spot. However, Booth hadn't had the car in gear for more than thirty seconds, or driven more than two feet, when he suddenly felt his head lurch forward with a sickening jolt of force. Booth recognized the crunch of metal for what it was as soon as he heard it, and a foul expletive escaped from his mouth as he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw what he knew would be there… a car, headlights still on, far too close to his rear bumper. _Great_, Booth sighed. _This is just what I need. Friggin' great-_

Putting the car in park, Booth ground his teeth as he yanked off his seat belt and pulled his car keys out of the ignition. Sighing, he reached for the driver's side door handle and slowly climbed out. Going around to the back of the car, he immediately grimaced as he saw a four-door Toyota Corolla sedan – a new model, too, Booth thought, from the shininess of the car's formerly pristine cobalt blue paint job - hugging his black SUV's fender like the two cars were dating. Booth thought 'formally pristine' because the entire front fender was completely smashed and dented. But, from what Booth could see as he glanced at his own vehicle, it appeared as if his Jeep had actually held up fairly well, but for some minor dents and scratches.

Booth was about to go around to the driver's side of the Corolla to see if the other driver was okay when he was beat to the punch. The driver's side door of the Corolla flew open, and a walking, talking, spiting ball of fire was suddenly standing in front of Booth. Arms placed on her hips in a clearly aggressive posture, eyes blazing, dark auburn hair blowing in the evening breeze, and body a barely contained quaking with fury, Booth didn't know quite how to respond when the Corolla's driver took one look at him and yelled, "What kind of an idiot are you? Didn't you see me? Two-ton moving vehicle with 110 watts of headlights announcing it's presence in the flow of traffic, right there. How can you not have seen that? How can you have possibly hit me?"

Taken aback by the woman's tirade, Booth didn't know whether to laugh or be offended. Finally, he opted for blithely amused as he said, "I'm sorry. Were you talking to me?"

"Of course," came the immediate response. She stopped and tilted her head at his as she narrowed her very blue eyes at him in obvious suspicion. "Please don't tell me you suffer from some physical malady or impairment that means I need to repeat everything I just said."

"No," Booth said. "I heard you call me an idiot perfectly, thanks very much."

"Then, perhaps you can stop prevaricating and answer my question?"

"Sure," Booth replied. "The simple answer is… I didn't hit you—you hit me."

"What?"she snapped.

"You heard me," Booth repeated, as he folded his arms and nodded at her. "Now, maybe if you could stop blustering over there for a minute, you could calm down enough so we can decide how we want to handle this, huh?"

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><p>Several hours later, Booth watched drowsily as the young woman reached down and began to gather her clothes from the floor of his apartment's bedroom. As she bent to grab something off the floor that had been hastily discarded in a fiery maelstrom earlier in the evening, Booth appreciated the view of her creamy curves, and he smiled lazily at the sight.<p>

Stifling a yawn, Booth said quietly, "You know, you really don't have to go."

Lithe body twisting at his words, a pair of mischievous blue eyes locked on Booth's as she said, "You said it yourself… you need some sleep."

"True," Booth admitted with a certain reluctance audible in his voice. "But, there's no reason why I can't get sleep if you're in bed and laying next to me." He stopped and then eyed her again, his appreciation of her physical attributes quite clear in his gaze. "Besides, I think I might sleep better if you stayed. And, it would _definitely _be more fun."

Coming over, clad only in her recently reclaimed nude colored push-up bra and a pair of cream-colored lace panties, the woman sat down on the edge of the bed. She leaned down, pulling Booth towards her, and gave him a soft kiss as she said, "I should go. If I stay, I get the distinct feeling neither one of us is going to really do much sleeping. And, even though I don't know you very well, I think I feel fairly confident in saying that it's clear that you need your sleep tonight... and so do I."

"But, it's already the middle of the night," Booth complained, his voice almost taking on a slight whine to it that would've annoyed him if he hadn't been as sleepy as he was. "Don't go," he told her. "Stay, and in the morning, I'll make us breakfast."

She had a torn look in her eye, and Booth could tell she was tempted by the offer. However, after a few seconds when Booth thought he might when the debate, she slowly shook her head and said, "As much as I might like to, I can't because I've got to be to work very early… and, plus, I need to leave enough time to call my insurance company before I morning." She narrowed her eyes at him, Booth had the good grace to look a bit sheepish, and she rewarded him with a smile as she had only really been teasing him.

"I'll drive you to work if you want. You can call the insurance company on the way in," Booth added, sweetening his proposition.

She inclined her head at his counter proposal, but said nothing.

"Where do you work again?" Booth said through another half-yawn. "I don't think you ever mentioned where it was specifically."

"That's because I didn't," the woman said simply. "And, if it's okay with you, I don't plan to, either."

"Hmmmm," Booth mused. "That's awfully mysterious of you."

"I don't seem to recall you minding the mysteriousness about six hours ago," she chided him lightly. "As a matter a fact, all I can seem to recall about you as of six hours ago was that you seemed really stressed out."

"Well, that's because some woman—" Booth found himself suddenly interrupted as he looked up and saw his companion frowning. She had placed both of her hands on her hips in a look of displeased warning that eerily echoed the same stance she had had the first time he saw her - despite the fact that she was now seat on his bed in on a bra and panties as compared to the Bungalow's parking lot. Booth smiled slightly as he continued, "—was apparently having a really bad day and decided to rear-end my SUV."

"Hey," she said, her frown deepening. "I listened to your suggested course of action, didn't I?"

"Well," Booth replied. He sat up in bed and reached out to pull her closer to him. "Eventually… after we spent about forty minutes arguing in the parking lot before the Virginia State Police showed up."

"And, they gave _me_ the ticket, thank you very much," the woman replied. "I still fail to see why I was 'driving carelessly' when you were the one—"

Reaching over, Booth placed a hand on the back of her head. Guiding her towards him, he gently kissed her. The kiss was brief, but when they broke a part, Booth smiled at her and said, "Now, at the very least, I thought we'd settled that one."

"No. That's not accurate. I didn't formally concede that point," the woman said softly. "I just acquiesced to your right to interpret the situation as you wished."

"Right," Booth laughed. "So, you're not going to give me that one even after everything that's happened—"

"Such as?"

"Such as you following me, coming all the way back here just to try to browbeat me into saying it was my fault—" Booth began.

"No, no, no," came the reply. "That's not what happened."

"Oh?" Booth asked with a lazy grin.

"No," she told him emphatically. "If you recall, it was _you _who invited _me _back here-"

"Because you said you needed to explain things to me again," Booth added.

Nodding, the woman said, "And, since you didn't want to do that in the Bungalow's parking lot, I agreed to remove to a more private location. I wasn't try to 'browbeat' you—merely logically persuade you as to the superiority of my interpretation-"

"Hmmm," Booth said, as he shook his head. "I don't think I've been persuaded."

"Well," she said with a laugh. "That's probably because we ended up in bed before I could finish persuading you as to the validity of my argument."

"Oh?" Booth replied. "That's all it was? Because, if you want, you can try to persuade me now. But, I gotta say, as I recall, it was more along the lines of us arguing-"

"Debating spiritedly-" she countered.

"-and then you doing something that I vaguely recall might've been the point where you stuck your tongue in my mouth."

"Well," she said. "You didn't protest it once I made my move, and I seem to recall that you responded quite enthusiastically."

"Yeah, well, I'm just like that. I'm that sorta guy, ya know? Enthusiastic's my middle name-" Lifting his hand, Booth began to absentmindedly draw a series of random circles on the softness of the woman's shoulder. She shivered a bit at his gentle touch and seemed to be lost in thought for a few precious seconds. Booth barely knew this woman, but he took great delight in being able to affect her in such a way. He pulled her towards him again, and Booth knew he could feel her resolve crumbling.

"Stay," he whispered, tempting her again.

Allowing herself to be pulled into another very pleasing kiss, she murmured, "I really shouldn't."

Booth deepened the kiss. She started to respond, wrapping her arms around his neck as he whispered again, "Stay."

"But—"

"Stay," came the command once more. Booth punctuated the command with another intense round of very passionate kissing and very pleasurable touching. In fact, his expert attentions elicited a very pleasing response when the woman began to whimper at his touches. She gave a breathy sigh of very weak protest when when he reached for the clasp on the back of her bra.

"But, I really have to get up early in the morning. Work—" came the token protest.

"Can wait," Booth mouthed into her ear. "Call in sick."

"I can't—"

A couple of more movements rendered Booth's goal achieved as the bra fell away, and he tossed it back on the floor. _Where it belongs, _Booth thought with a satisfied smile. He grinned at her again, and said, "I think I've demonstrated by now I can be quite persuasive when I want to be, right?"

She nodded slowly, her eyes heavy lidded and clouded with desire once more.

"So, I think I've been very persuasive, and you need to stay."

She looked at him curiously, biting her lip for a minute before she nodded. "Well, yes, that's true. Your recent actions have made a very convincing argument, particularly when considering the fact that I normally don't make it a habit to fall into bed with strangers—"

"Neither do I," Booth said, his voice thick with desire. "But, for you, a special exception needed to be made."

"Hmmmm," came the response. "Well, in that case, maybe I should reciprocate."

"So, you'll stay?" Booth asked, almost moaning the question as she started to press against him, and he moved his hands to reward her for her movement.

"If you keep doing that, then, yes, I'll stay," she breathed.

Grinning up at her, Booth barely had enough time to murmur his appreciation at her concession to him before he was fully distracted and completely immersed in his goal of 'persuading' her to stay—just as he had promised he would so expertly do so.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	2. Ch 2: Bested by Sully's Big Mouth

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

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><p>Ch 2: Bested by Sully's Big Mouth<p>

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><p>The only sounds that either one of the pair could hear were the scuffing of their respective rubber-soled sneakers pounding on the hard synthetic rubbery material of which the track had been constructed. As they jogged side-by-side, in a steady and matched pace, their quick intakes and exhales of breath peppered the air, as they continued to run their additional laps-and make the time go by faster by insulting one another in a way that only the two of them had ever really been able to achieve.<p>

Despite their similar builds, one was slightly taller, by a measure of approximately two inches-a statistic of which the taller man liked to constantly remind the shorter man at every appropriate instance. However, the shorter man was a bit more wiry, weighing seven pounds less than the taller man. It was over this current point of contention that the two men were now bickering among an alternating string of grunts, heaves, and pounding of their feet on the track.

"Yeah, well, if I'm short, at least I'm skinny. I'd rather be short and skinny than tall and fat," came the latest volley.

"Poof," was the immediate response. "You wanna be short and dumpy? No problem. Your wish is granted."

"Ha. Ha. Ha," came the rapid retort. "You're... just jealous."

"Me?" the incredulity was clearly evident in his voice as he repeated his question. "Seriously? Me? You think _I'm_ jealous of _you_?"

"Yes," came the smart answer. "You're… just jealous of me-insanely jealous, mind you-because you're taller, but you're way more fat than I am," came the retort.

Dark brown eyes snapped over and glared at another set of lighter brown eyes, the aggravated annoyance clearly evident on his face.

"I… am… not… FAT."

"Uh, yeah, well, I have seven pieces of evidence, as of the last P-T weigh in, that says different."

"Hey, now, I'll have you know that's all muscle!"

"Oh, please. Let me guess. Is this the part where you tell me you're not fat, just big-boned, Booth?" Tim Sullivan asked, the disbelief clearly evident in his voice. "Because, if it is, I'm gonna have to ask you to remind me to smack you upside the head as hard as I can later for being so damn trite." He paused for another swift intake of breath before he added, "Come on, I mean, even _I_ know that _you_ can do better than that, right?"

Seeley Booth again glared at Sullivan. "Okay, so how about this one. I think that this is the part where you tell me that you've always wanted to get your short skinny ass beat up by a tall fat guy, right?" Booth asked him bluntly. "Because, I gotta tell you, Sully, I'm gonna make it a priority to make you life's wish come true when we're done running."

"Ohhh, promises, promises, Booth," Sully waggled his eyebrows at his friend. "You know I like the rough stuff, so I say, hey, bring it on, buttercup," Sully retorted as he took another short breath, in through the nose, and out through his mouth. "I think we both know by now that I can take whatever you can dish out."

"Yeah, I know _you _think that," Booth said with a small shake of his head. "But, somehow I doubt it, seeing as how you become Bambi in the scene where his mom's shot and start crying Niagara Falls because your batteries ran out, and you couldn't play your damn CD last night before bed again-thank friggin' God, by the way-right, Sully?"

"Now, look," Sully said, "I told you, I can't sleep in the damn dorm without some type of white noise, and it's not like I would sleep even if I could with you snoring like some reject test subject from the Breathe Right Nasal Strips' commercial-"

"A.) I don't snore," Booth retorted. "B.) Squirrel monkeys masturbating in the Amazonian Rainforest, humpback whales getting it on in the Pacific, or rain storms that make you want to piss the bed are your favorite three tracks for some specific reason, aren't they, Sully?" Booth asked, shaking his head as he pumped his fists to maintain his momentum. He then tilted his head and gave his friend a sly look as he said, "At least, they were before your CD disappeared, right?"

"You bastard," Sully said. "I know you took it. And, I'm gonna make you tell me where you put it before the other copy I ordered from last night gets here, Booth." Smirking, Sully added, "It's coming two-day FedEx, by the by, so it should be here by tomorrow morning either way."

"Oh, joy," Booth groaned. He then added, "You know, not that I didn't think this already, but you're one strange SOB, Sully."

"And, why's that, Booth-although coming from one strange SOB to another, I'm inclined to take it as a compliment," Sully said.

"Because, Sul-I mean, geez…why is it that all of your damn 'white noise' nature sounds all seem to have something to do with some type of emission or exchange of bodily fluids?"

"I'll have you know, Booth, that those CDs are from one of the best-selling series sold by Time Life," Sully said quite defensively.

"So, what?" Booth told him. "Just because a lot of people who have no taste bought the same CD you did does not prove it's quality to me, Sul," Booth said. "I've listened to that CD, so I _know _it's crap-"

"You're a complete neophyte, Booth, a complete neophyte," Sully said, as he made a face and his mouth twisted in displeasure. "I know I'm fighting a losing battle here, but I consider it my duty as your best friend to try to bring you a bit of culture to broaden your horizons-"

"My horizons are broad enough as if, Sul, thanks," Booth retorted. "So, anyway, just in case you get any more bright ideas, how about this? You broaden your horizons your way, and I'll broaden my horizons my way, Sul," Booth said. He immediately thought about how many nights in the dorm during the past two weeks he'd already spent arguing with Sully over everything from his sleeping peccadilloes to whether they'd watch hockey on ESPN or soccer on ESPN3. Shaking his head, Booth added, "If we do it that way, then maybe I can cut down on how many damn ear plugs I need to buy to get me through the next nineteen weeks, because you, my friend, suck as a roommate, and I, for one, will be _very_ happy when I can go back to having my own place like a real grown up, thank you very much."

"Yeah, well, you've been a real peach, too, Booth," Sully said, sparing the costly energy necessary to shake his head as the pair continued in their matched jog. "And, since you brought it up, and we're on the subject, I don't know why, but you've been a real dick, lately, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Booth said dismissively. "'Course, I'm not the one who's running an extra eight laps because I couldn't keep my big mouth shut in front of Warner."

"Technically," Sully corrected him. "_Technically_, I'm running the extra laps because I couldn't keep my mouth shut in front of Warner, while you, my friend, are running the extra eight laps because you didn't stand up to Kenton."

Shaking his head, Booth stared at Sully, "How in the hell was I supposed to know that Warner was using Kenton to test me?"

"Don't know there, Booth," Sully said. "I've never had the problem of shooting my mouth off, remember?"

"It wasn't a fair test," Booth mumbled. "I mean, I don't mind running the extra laps, but it makes no sense that they want us to challenge our instructors. Isn't that why we're here? To learn what they can teach us?"

Again, Sully shook his head. "I don't know, Booth. I mean, you know that not everything they have to teach us is in the course syllabus or weekly reading assignment-"

"Of course, I do-"

"And, I don't just mean the other stuff on the range or in tac simulations, Booth. So, if I'm right, maybe that whole Ranger's 'ours is not to question why' motto that you seem to want to cling to while you 'do and die' thing? Maybe you should shove it and try living by motto instead, since if you had, you wouldn't have ended up running the laps to begin with, to say nothing of the fact that even if you were wrong and did have to run them, at least you'll have a bit off fun if you're going to be doing the extra P-T laps anyway."

"Laps are better than demerits," Booth grunted.

"Even still, you gotta admit, I have more fun," Sully said with a flash of his white teeth in Booth's general direction. "Trust me, Booth. What you need to do is decide that you're just going to do what you need to do first, and apologize and/or ask for permission after the fact."

"That's pretty damn selfish, and, possibly, very stupid, Sul," Booth said, frowning.

"Yeah, but again, I'll take stupid and selfish over the prig that you've become lately any day."

Booth scowled at his friend. "Nope. Not buying it, Sul. We both know that's a bunch of crap-"

"No, it's not," Sully replied as they turned the track's corner, increased their pace slightly as they jogged towards the finish line, and completed another lap. "I don't know why you won't tell me, but you've been pain and misery for a while now. So, if you don't want to tell me, fine. But, seriously, Booth-our first night off in two weeks… I've decided already."

"Decided what?" Booth asked, trying to be careful to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

Sully turned his head and looked over at Booth with a grin. "I've decided that for your own mental and physical well-being, as well as my own, that I'm taking you some place so you can get laid-"

"Why do you keep drawing the conclusion that my mood would change if I were having sex?" Booth asked. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he suddenly realized what he had said, how stupid it had sounded, and flushed red at the mistake. "That's not what I meant."

"Of course, it's not, Booth," Sully said, smirking at his friend. "Of course, it's not." He stopped talking, taking advantage of a lapse in their bickering rants to take a few more deep breaths. After a minute or so had passed, Sully caught Booth's eye glance and nodded to emphasize his addendum, " In either case, two weeks, buddy."

"Of course, assuming that I even want to go-"

"You do," Sully interrupted him with a cheeky smile. "Or, if you don't yet, you will."

"If I did want to go," Booth continued, throwing an annoyed look at his friend as he ignored Sully's statements.. "That whole thing there, about where to go, what to do, and why there's even any need to do anything, anyway- all I'm saying, Sully, is that it's a big assumption to make..

"Holy vague generalities, Batman!" Sully called out. He then narrowed his eyes at Booth as he said, "Could you be any more ambiguous?"

"Yes," Booth said dryly.

"Damn it, Booth, come on-what do you mean?" Sully asked, a small amount of confusion making it's way into his voice. "Who? What? When? Where? Why?"

"What? Did you take up another career when I wasn't looking? Are you, a reporter now or something in your spare time, too?" Booth asked as he rolled his eyes as Sully.

"Will you just please repeat the damn statement you said that kicked off this whole dumb exchange?" Sully asked.

Sighing, Booth resigned himself to having to repeat his earlier thoughts."All I'm saying is that you're making a pretty big assumption there, Sul," Booth said with a cautiously even tone in his voice that hadn't been there a couple of minutes earlier. "

However, Tim Sullivan never let anything like a vague and generalized statement from the likes of Seeley Booth scare him off. Unlike most people, Tim Sullivan was one person who knew he'd never have anything to fear at the hands of Booth. He simply knew Booth too well to ever really be afraid of his best friend, despite how so many other people felt about Booth because they just didn't really understand him.

_He hides himself from so many people for too many different reasons_, Sully thought. _I don't know why, but if he weren't working so hard at putting up this one casual front that cloaks the more serious person of who he is, God, how great a person he could be-_

Recalling that his friend's earlier statement did deserve some type of acknowledgement, Sully asked for clarification as he replied, "And, why's that, again, Booth? What's the whole big deal about, anyway?"

"Because," his friend replied simply.. "You're assuming you're going to make it two weeks without me killing you?" Shrugging his shoulders slightly, Booth said, "Like I said, that's a big assumption to make."

"Oh, yeah, Booth?"

"Yeah, Sully," Booth said, as he then bit his lip back to keep from chuckling again.

"Yeah, well, in that case, I say bring it," Sully retorted. "You already smashed my _Ultimate Sounds of Natural Nature_ CD, Booth. So, what else can you do to me, really?"

Looking over at his friend, Booth said, "Ummm, how about kicking your ass time-wise on the last two laps?"

"No way, old man," Sully called out, putting on a burst of speed. "Remember, you're the one who's so much older than me-"

"Four months!" Booth protested, a sharp yell coming into his voice. "By, not even four months!"

"Even still," Sully said with a grin. "Four months can mean a lot when you're approaching the age of physical degeneration, Booth." Sully paused for a few seconds as he took a couple of more deep breaths. "You know how it goes, right, Booth? It starts with the eye sight-"

"My eye site is 20/15, which is better than yours, by the way, you SOB-"

"Then, the joints go-"

"Now, hey! Cut that out. I told you, my back-"

"And, then, you know you're ready for the old foggies' home when they put the final nail in your coffin-you realize the highlight of your entire day is when you find out if they have vanilla or chocolate pudding cups in the cafeteria for dinner!" Sully yelped, knowing the last one would be the one that riled Booth the most given his predilection for the pudding cups.

"Okay," Booth rumbled. "You know what? I can take it with you calling me Lurch, then saying I'm fat and old while I'm going blind and becoming a cripple so that I might as well just trade my grandfather for you for a roommate, but, what the hell, Sul? You just had to go there, didn't you? Really? You just had to insult my pudding?"

Laughing, Sully began to run faster, but called out over his shoulder, "If the shoe fits, Boothy-boy, if the shoe fits!"

"You better run," Booth yelled. "Because if I catch you, I'm going to show you just how serious I take my pudding, Sully. So, run!"

"Come on, slow poke," Sully yelled back. "I've already lapped you twice. Get a move on, huh?"

As Sully continued to outpace him, Booth shook his head, took a few deep breaths to bolster his energy reserves, and then put on an extra burst of speed in pursuit of his best friend who was laughing all the way down the track in front of him.

* * *

><p>From the far side of the athletic track, two pairs of eyes watched the only two men still running their morning laps. Even from that distance, the woman could see both men were obviously tired, sweating profusely with their dark hair plastered to their head, rivulets running down their faces and necks. Each wore the standard grey FBI t-shirt and sweats with corresponding white socks and sneakers as they continued circling the track at a steady pace. She shivered a bit in the brisk morning air, the March morning being colder than she'd expected, and she was the one dressed in a warm sweater, wool overcoat, and boots. Glancing at the pair, seeing their noses and ears tinted red by the brisk morning's breeze as the sun began it's rosy ascent into the morning sky, she knew they had been running for well over an hour. That fact, juxtaposed with the shouts of excitement and yells of laughter coming from the pair surprised her, as they continued to run in what she could only describe as an admirably disgusting display of raw male youthful virility. The younger of the pair who stood watching, a male with dark hair and blue eyes looked on in obvious displeasure, frowning as he glanced at the stopwatch he was holding. However, the older of the pair, a woman with golden highlights in her hair that kept her haircut from becoming a stereotypical platinum blonde, watched with clear curious interest writ plain on her face. Eventually, when the pair had crossed the finish line and begun another lap that took them to the far side of the track, the older woman was the first to speak.<p>

"So, how do you think they're doing?"

The younger man next to her shrugged as he glanced down at the clipboard. "All right, I suppose."

"Time?"

"If we're going by who's faster, Sullivan's lapped Booth twice, so, _technically_, he's got the better score," came the instant reply.

"Hmmmm," the older woman mused. "That's fairly interesting."

"With all due respect, ma'am, not really," the younger man said.

"And, why's that?"

"They're two different styles is all," he explained. "From everything I've seen, they're both fairly well matched in physical strength and conditioning. And, although I might say that Sullivan's probably a bit more flexible in the short term, Booth's definitely capable of more in the long term. Sullivan's a better sprinter, but Booth does better endurance-wise."

"Hmmmm," she repeated again, as she considered her instructor's evaluation of the new trainees. Another yell, this time from Booth, drew the pair's attention. Inclining her head, the woman said, "All thing's considered, they seem to be very jovial about their run, especially considering the fact that it's 6:30am, they've been up two hours more than everyone else, and they haven't even eaten breakfast yet," the older woman observed dryly.

"Yeah, well, even with having to run the extra laps, I don't think that either one is really too pissed off at the other yet," the younger man responded. "All things considered, they seem to be in fairly good moods, which makes me wonder if they're either morning people, masochists, or just really happy to be here." In his late thirties, the young man's his hairline was slightly receding, but his trim and tall figure dwarfed even the two tall men currently running on the track. His blue eyes flashed as he looked down at a clipboard and then he looked over and inclined his head at the older woman standing beside him, "Callie?"

"Yes, Jamie?" came the reply.

"I've got a question I'd like you to answer for me," he told her.

"Of course," she said with a nod. "What is it?"

"Yesterday," he began. "Why, if you knew Booth had a bad back, did you want me to try to goad him into saying he wouldn't do the ropes exercise again? I mean, we already knew that the infirmary doc already said the first time he did it, it inflamed his lumbar so badly they had to give him the corticoid shot, right?" the younger man asked. "And, since he already finished it once, what was the point of having me tell him he was going to have to do it again?"

"Well, you know as well as I do that I never really had any actual intention of having him do it again, but I needed to see how he'd react to the possibility, particularly if it was coming as a result of a punitive measure. As far as I'm concerned, he did it once, finished it with a decent score-despite the fact it was clear how much pain he was in-and it served it's purpose. But-" her voice trailed off, as she turned her eyes and focused on Booth as he continued to run the track.

A look of surprise crossing the younger man's face, he prompted her when she seemed to become lost in thought. "But, Callie?"

Her head snapping up, surprised that she had been caught off guard, the older woman quickly tried to recover as she added to clarify, "But, I needed to see what he would do. I mean, Sullivan did give me the perfect opportunity, so I hadn't exactly planned to do it quite this soon, but I needed to know what type of man Booth is," she answered.

The younger man, still not comprehending, asked, "But, I'm not certain I understand, Callie. I mean, all members of the class have already passed the background screening and the psycho evals before they even started-"

"I know that," she replied. "I do, but at the very least, I needed to verify that information for myself, and perhaps even more importantly, I needed to know something that the psych eval couldn't necessarily tell me."

"And, that was?"

" I wanted to know if Booth would actually do what the psych profile and his service record said he would do in that particular situation, even if it was at great personal cost to himself-in this case extreme physical discomfort, despite the fact that he was taking the blame for provoking Sullivan's comment about me when we both know that Sullivan came up with that clever little quip all by himself," she replied.

"So, in reality, he _did _pass your little test there, didn't he?" he asked.

The older woman nodded, "Yes, he did."

"And, since he kept him mouth shut and didn't try to use his back as an excuse to get out of running the ropes exercise again, that was a good enough reason to give him the laps to work off the demerits instead?" Special Agent Jamie Kenton asked his supervisor.

Narrowing her eyes, Special Agent Callie Warner said, "Now, Jamie, come on. We both know that the only person who really said anything inappropriate was Sullivan when he made that little throwaway line last night that he didn't think any one else but his roommate heard."

Jamie Kenton smiled at Warner and said, "Well, I think we at least gotta give him some credit. Sullivan _does_ have a certain way with words."

"Very dramatic," Warner agreed. "He does have a certain flare, yes, I'll concede."

Snickering, Warner had to bit his lip as amusement came into his eyes. "What was it he called you again?"

"The Wicked Witch of West DC, who, apparently, can't afford a decent dye job to save my life because if I let a stylist get water on me, I'll melt," she repeated verbatim, having committed _that _particular description to memory because Kenton had been right - it _had _been one of Sullivan's better quips.

"Well, you _had _just ripped him a new one for his performance on the range," Kenton pointed out. "And, they were in the dorms."

"Even, still," Warner said. "Sullivan will make a damn fine agent if he can just learn a little bit of impulse control. He needs to learn to _always_ be aware of his surroundings, and not take things for granted like he seems to be inclined to do." She stopped, watching as the pair continued doing there laps. Shaking her head slightly, Warner said, "I keep hoping that some of Booth's self-control will rub off on him-tone him down, even him out a bit, you know?"

"Yes," Kenton agreed. "But, I think it's fair to say that the last thing that Booth needs is to be toned down."

"Oh, absolutely," Warner replied. "If anything, he's got the exact opposite problem as Sullivan. He's so tightly wound, so controlled, his Achilles' Heel is when he goes against what his gut feelings are." She paused and took a breath before she added, "I keep hoping that maybe some of Sullivan's exuberance will get Booth to lighten up a bit and make him trust his instincts more."

Kenton considered her words for a minute before he said, "Callie?"

"Yes?"

"I know that look, you know," Kenton began.

"What look?" she asked, trying to feign innocence.

"That look right there," Kenton said, pointing his finger at her. "That one."

"And, what look is that, Jamie?" Warner said, still not willing to concede.

"You think he's the stronger candidate, don't you?" Kenton asked.

"Who?"

Kenton rolled his eyes at her as he said, "Booth?"

"Mmmmm," Warner shrugged. "It's too early to say. Officially, we have an _excellent _batch of trainees in this cohort-"

"Callie-" Kenton grumbled.

"Unofficially, though," Warner said, "And, I swear I'll deny this at a later date if you rat me out and repeat it to anyone, Jamie. But, yes, I do think Booth has the makings of being a remarkable agent-and possibly a great asset to the Bureau, if-"

"If what?" Kenton said.

Smiling a wide and mysterious Cheshire grin, Warner said, "If he can do as well in the classroom as he does on the track and range."

"Oh," Kenton laughed, suddenly comprehending his supervisor and friend's point. "That's right. We start the forensic unit later this week, don't we?"

"Yes," Warner said. "And, then, I think, we'll see just how good Seeley Booth really is."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	3. Ch 3: Bested by an FBI Consultant

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p>Ch 3: Bested by an FBI Consultant<p>

* * *

><p>Special Agent Jamie Kenton stood a few feet away from Dr. Temperance Brennan. She was slowly walking around the diameter of the seminar room, studying the facilities with a critical eye, taking in the specifications of the room in everything from the number of student seats present to the width of the dry erase boards to the amount of flat surfaces she had accessible in close proximity to her podium. After a couple of minutes, she abruptly stopped and looked up at him.<p>

"The projector is not functioning," Brennan frowned at him.

Kenton nodded. "I've made a note to get someone from IT here to fix it immediately."

"I suspect it's a relatively simply repair requiring replacement of a burned out bulb," Brennan said, crossing her arms. "However, the projector _must _be in working order _prior _to when I convene our class for the first forensics lecture on Monday morning."

"I understand, Dr. Brennan," Kenton said with a conciliatory nod.

"You're certain this issue can be addressed and rectified promptly?" Brennan asked, the uncertainty clear in her face. "Because, I can't brook any delays, Agent Kenton. I'm supposed to start my lecture promptly at 9am, and that's exactly what I plan to do, so we can't make any mistakes, you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kenton said with a nod. "I personally guarantee it'll be fixed long before 9am on Monday morning."

"Good," Brennan said. "Because, I can't tell you how displeased I'll be if I have to begin my first lecture without the requisite materials I requested when Agent Warner contacted me, and I agreed to take on this assignment more than a month ago. As I'm sure we both know, it's not standard procedure to rely on outside consultants for anything more than an occasional guest lecture at the Academy, but I'm doing this as a favor. That being said, I'll still be extremely dissatisfied if my lecture is delayed because of such unpreparedness on the part of the FBI."

"Yes, ma'am," Kenton repeated. "Agent Warner kinda insinuated that part to me. That's one of the reasons why she suggested we do this run through today, just to be on the safe side."

"Very well," Brennan sighed. She tilted her head and looked around the room with a final quick sweep of her eyes. "While not equal to the facilities of which I'm normally used to, I believe these will sufficiently fulfill my requisite needs, Agent Kenton," Brennan said.

Nodding at her again, Kenton said, "If you're sure, that's great, Dr. Brennan."

"Provided the projector bulb is replaced, then, yes, I'm certain," Brennan nodded. "Don't worry about providing dry erase markers. I'll bring my own so as to ensure that I have a high enough quantity of diverse colors to fulfill my needs should I find myself needing to diagram something in response to any unanticipated inquiries from the class."

"Are you certain, Dr. Brennan? Because, if there's anything else, anything else that I can get you at all, Agent Warner did instruct me to assist you in whatever way possible and to provide you with anything you need, so I'd be more than happy—" Kenton began to explain.

"No, no," Brennan said, waving him off with a sigh. "This is fine. It's not the Jeffersonian, but I must remember not to hold that against you since this is just the FBI Academy. Certain allowances have to be made—concessions, if you will—to compensate for that fact."

"Uhhhh," Kenton said. "Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome," Brennan replied with a sharp nod of her head. "Now, you've received my syllabus, reading assignments, and the list of materials we'll need for the lab practical examinations?"

Kenton nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I've got some techs working on getting everything photocopied and set for Monday."

"Excellent," Brennan said. "Then, as long as you can make certain that the projector in this classroom will be in working order by the time our session is scheduled to convene on Monday morning, I think we'll be adequately prepared."

"Yes, ma'am," he said again. Glancing at his watch, Kenton he then said, "Well, if we're done here—"

"We are," Brennan interrupted him again.

"Err, yes," Kenton said. "Then, if you'd like, seeing as how we have a bit of time before Agent Warner finishes with the trainees for today, we have a couple of options. If you'd prefer, we can wait in the faculty lounge until Callie's done. Or, if you'd like to get a sneak peak of your students, we can go downstairs and see what we can see. They're finishing a practical scenario down in the gymnasium, so it might give you some perspective that you wouldn't necessarily get in the classroom that might prove to be useful in giving you a different type of insight about the people you'll be working with as the term's coursework proceeds."

"I don't like wasting my valuable time needlessly making half-hearted or feigned attempts at socializing, Agent Kenton," Brennan said. "I much prefer being active to inactivity. So, your second suggestion is preferable, especially as it has the added merit of providing me with information that I didn't think I'd have an opportunity to obtain. Thus, I believe the later plan if the one I would prefer as it possesses more merit."

Nodding, Kenton extended a hand in the direction of the classroom's exit. With a small smile, he said, "Right this way, then."

* * *

><p>Having moved a couple of feet away from his friend and partner, Booth was rubbing his shoulder while he stared maliciously at Sully. The pain was throbbing slightly, although it wasn't actually too bad, all things considered. Booth knew it could've been a lot worse if Sully had hit him harder than he actually did. However, the principle of the blow rubbed Booth the wrong way, and he glared daggers as Sullivan to let him know how much he was displeased with what had just occurred. Never one to be cowed by Booth's 'brooding stare of wanna-be badassness' as Sully put it, just to make certain there wouldn't be any confusion, Booth added, "That was a cheap shot, Sul!"<p>

Sully, who knew that Booth would be pissed, had anticipated his friend's response and merely shrugged. "Hey, man," Sully replied, trying to swallow a grin. "I was just doing what I was told."

Booth again shot him another look that had melted lesser men than Sully into a quaking mass of fearful uncertainty. Booth had long ago decided that Sully, unintimidated by such looks, was either one of the bravest or one of the most oblivious men he'd ever met. Shaking his head, Booth continued rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah, well, you don't have to be such a dick about it," Booth grunted.

Special Agent Callie Warner—dressed in a black FBI warm-up suit with white stripes down the side of its pants and her name embroidered over her left pocket if the suit had possessed one—walked over to where the pair was standing. Holding her clipboard, she was scratching furiously on the paper held secure by the old school metal and wood construct. She looked up at Booth and began to explain how he'd scored in his evaluation. "Technically, Trainee Sullivan's correct, Trainee Booth. In this exercise, he was supposed to assume the role of a POI who became spooked when you identified yourself as a federal agent. In his nervousness and anxiety, he was to become aggressive, hostile, and unpredictable—which Trainee Sullivan did quite brilliantly—" Sully beamed a bit at the unexpected praise from Warner. "Perhaps, a bit too realistically," Warner modified her compliment when she saw Sully's smile, which quickly disappeared at her displeasing frown. "Anyway, as I was saying, just as if this was actually happening in the field, I think we both know that you can't expect someone to not take cheap shots, particularly when said cheap shot is being taken at a federal agent, Mr. Booth."

Booth's eyes flashed over at Sully, but he gave a curt nod as he took the constructive criticism for what it was from his instructor. "Yes, ma'am."

Enjoying seeing Booth start to squirm at his less than perfect performance and biting back a snicker, Sully had to purse his lips to keep from smiling. But, despite his best attempts to conceal his response, his actions were not lost on the astute Warner.

"However," she said, as her head swiveled over to where Sully was causally standing. "Don't think it's escaped my notice that when you chose to take a swing at Trainee Booth, it was to hit him in the exact spot where everyone received their tetanus boosters yesterday, Trainee Sullivan." Looking at him over the rim of her glasses, Warner said, "That _was _a cheap shot."

Sully swallowed once and had the good sense to look abashed.

"Even though technically you did distract him in this scenario, as the instructions asked you to do, I'm docking ten points for poor sportsmanship and awarding them to Trainee Booth," Warner said. She stopped quirked her head at him and said, "You never would've possessed such knowledge that landing a blow to his shoulder would've enable you to incapacitate Trainee Booth if it weren't for the fact that, outside of this simulation, you're an FBI trainee as well, Mr. Sullivan. While I'm all for being resourceful, you still have to play by the rules. Understood?"

Warner looked over to Sully, who had the good sense to at least appear further chastised by her words. Swallowing once more, he met her gaze for a few seconds—just long enough that he'd given his instructor the respect that she was due—and then he promptly looked away. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered.

"Good," Warner said. "And, Mr. Sullivan?" Warner pressed.

Lifting his head back up to meet her gaze, he replied, "Yes, ma'am?"

"Just a word to the wise," Warner began. "If you plan on cursing me out, as I know you're using every little bit of self-control that you have over there to keep from doing in front of me, my advice is that you wait until I'm at least on the other side of the room. Then, you should lower your voice, keep your head down so no one can read your lips, and make certain that Trainee Booth isn't pissed off enough to report you for mouthing off because of that dirty little trick you pulled, lest you end up running extra laps again tomorrow morning, huh?"

A flash of emotion blazed in Sully's eyes before he slowly nodded, "Duly noted, ma'am."

Nodding, Warner had to suppress a wry smile as she turned to look at Booth. "So, you going to be okay, there, or do you need to go to the infirmary again?"

"No, ma'am," Booth said. "I'll live."

Warner smiled at him this time, a genuine smile as she reached out and lightly patted his uninjured shoulder. "All right then, off you go then. We're done for the day. See you tomorrow, gentlemen."

Turning, Warner walked over to where she had left her water bottle since Booth and Sully were the last pair of trainees that she needed to evaluate before calling it a day. The majority of the class, however, had lurked behind, wanting to see what would happen between Booth and Sully—or, as a number of their classmates had dubbed them, Batman and Robin.

Looking over at him, Sully reached for his own water bottle and towel as he nodded at his friend. "Hey, Booth?"

"Yeah?" Booth said, still rubbing his shoulder slightly, aware that it was going to bruise even worse since Sully had hit him dead on with his light jab. "What?"

"How come I merely use the word 'witch', and because it rhymes with the word 'bitch', if Warner hears it, I end up running AM laps, but when she hears you call me a dick, you get a smile and a pat on the shoulder?" Sully asked. "What the hell is up with that?"

"She likes me better than you," Booth smirked.

"Pfffft," Sully responded. "Why? What do you have that I don't?"

"You mean that nasty habit of calling her every name in the book and meaning it?" Booth asked. "I don't know, Sul. Maybe it's just my winsome smile." Flashing a toothy grin at his partner, Booth had to dodge when Sully tried to jab at his arm again. "Hey, cut it out!"

"Make me," Sully answered. Glancing at the clock, Sully then asked, "So, once we get cleaned up, you want to go get some pizza or what?"

"Have to get it delivered," Booth said. "We're supposed to be working through the first four chapters of the forensics textbook, remember?"

"Damn," Sully complained. "Yes, I remember."

"Then, why did you ask me if I wanted to go get pizza?" Booth asked, as he began to gather his belongings.

"Because," Sully replied. "I was hoping you forgot."

"Yeah, right," Booth chuckled. "We've got work to do tonight, buddy. Best I can offer you is a dinner break to catch part of the Capitals versus Bruins game that's on later."

At the word 'Bruins', Sully's ears perked up. "The Bruins are on ESPN tonight?"

"Uh huh," Booth replied with a smile. "And, yeah, it's not the Flyers, but in a pinch, hockey's hockey, right?"

"Hmmmm," Sully said. "I guess, when you put it like that, how can I refuse you, my love?"

"Sully?" Booth asked.

"Yes, dear?"

"Another word to the wise—I can't sleep on my side tonight like I usually do because my shoulder's going to be killing me. That means I'm probably going to get a fairly shitty night's sleep because of you. So, don't make me have to orchestrate some massive type of soap-in-a-tube-sock incident, because I don't have a lot of spare time, but I'll make it a priority if I have to, huh?" Booth finished, wagging his finger at Sully in warning.

Rolling his eyes, Sully opened his mouth to give an appropriate response to Booth's taunt. However, at the exact moment he was going to speak, he happened to glance at the opposite side of the gymnasium when he heard the main door open. Booth—who had been watching Sully to see what his friend's response would be to his threat—was somewhat intrigued when his friend's big mouth opened wide, his jaw suddenly dropped, and his eyes grew large in surprise.

"Wow!" Sully finally managed in a low voice. "Who is that?"

"Who's who?" Booth said, glancing over at the direction in which Sully was, as usual, blatantly pointing with his index finger, so that there could be no mistaking what he was doing at all.

"Check out the chick that just walked in, Booth," Sully said, adamant appreciation clear in his eyes. "Wow! Just… wow! She is hot!"

And, as Booth's eyes darted over to where Sully was looking, having been unusually struck deaf, mute, and dumbstruck at the new arrival's appearance, his jaw suddenly dropped as well—but for a different reason entirely.

_Oh, damn_, he thought to himself. _No… what are you doing here? Really, just_—_oh… damn. This is not good. So not good. Damn. Damn. Damn._

* * *

><p>Brennan had followed Kenton to the gymnasium, eager to obtain some first-hand knowledge of the students she would begin teaching in two day's time.<p>

"So, I still haven't had a chance to read the profile summaries that you provided to my office on each trainee," Brennan began. "However, you can rest assured that I'll be well prepared by the time class begins on Monday."

"You haven't even looked at them yet?" Kenton asked, a bit of hurt creeping into his voice.

Shaking her head, Brennan said, "No. I decided to purposely wait until after I had finished designing each of the course lectures, practical demonstrations and scenarios, as well as the exams. I didn't want anyone's background or former expertise to influence how I was going to finish shaping the curriculum."

"Ahh," Kenton said. "I guess that's a good explanation."

"Of course it is, as it's the truth," Brennan replied. "I can assure you, Agent Kenton. I'm not the type of individual who shirks my responsibilities. I take my professional obligations very, _very _seriously."

"Really?" Kenton said. "Because, I have to tell you, Callie made me work my ass off on putting those briefs together. So, it'd kind of suck if you weren't even going to look at them."

"No," Brennan reassured him with an emphatic nod. "You have my word. I'm going to read them later this evening. I'm sure they'll prove quite useful."

As the pair continued walking, Kenton continued his end of their discussion about Brennan's plans for the next week. When they had come close enough so that Warner saw them, she waved them over.

"Oh, good, you two are here," Warner said. "I've just finished up with my last pair of trainees—"

"Let me guess," Kenton said with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Batman and Robin?"

Warner nodded with a knowing look to confirm his guess. "Of course. Who else?"

A look of confusion clearly evident on her face, Brennan asked, "I'm sorry. But, did you just insinuate that two of the trainees in this class are actually named Trainee Batman and Trainee Robin?"

Looking over at Kenton, he sighed as he said, "Oh, sorry, Dr. Brennan. My mistake. I forgot that sometimes you take things so… literally."

"Batman and Robin are nicknames that seem to have stuck somehow for two of our trainees. They're actually right there, if you'd like to meet them. They're two of our more promising, if not, more colorful candidates," Warner explained with a knowing glance. "But, why refer to them as Batman and Robin if that's not their names?"

"Because," Kenton said. "They're sorta the dynamic duo of this class. One's the dark and quiet brooder, the other a loud and wise-cracking smartass, and they shouldn't work together as well as they do, but somehow they always manage to pull it out."

"Ahh," Brennan said. "While I'm somewhat unfamiliar with the exact specifics that such a pop culture reference implies, your explanation is quite helpful. Thank you."

Kenton, who had been standing in front of Brennan, nodded. "You're welcome." He paused and then gestured in the direction of where the trainees were milling about. "So, do you want to meet them?"

"Of course," Brennan confirmed. "I'm always eager to meet new students."

Nodding, Warner turned away from the pair and called out, "Trainee Sullivan? Trainee Booth? A minute of your time, if you please?"

After a few seconds, Kenton turned away from Brennan and allowed her the first clear glance she'd had of the students when two heavy pair of footfalls suddenly padded to a halt in front of them.

"Ma'am?" came the automatic and in-sync, if somewhat belabored response, from the pair.

As she looked at the duo, Warner was actually the first one to pick up on something being off. There was something wrong with both men, particularly Booth. He was flushed a light pink, his body tense, and he seemed to be drawing in short rapid breaths. Sullivan seemed slightly distracted as well, but with his eyes plastered to Brennan's curvy shape, Warner felt fairly comfortable in guessing why he was acting funnier than usual. But, Booth—well, Booth was another matter all together. _What's shaken his banana tree? _Warner wondered. _Hmmmm…._

Deciding that the only way to find out was to proceed, Warner began, "Gentlemen, before you go, I'd like to introduce you to your instructor for the forensic unit that our course work will be moving into as of Monday. This is Dr. Temperance Brennan, a forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian Institute. Dr. Brennan, the gentleman who is metaphorically bouncing off the walls to your left is Trainee Timothy Sullivan and the other, more subdued, gentleman to your right is Trainee Seeley Booth."

As soon as the words were out of Warner's mouth, Brennan's head suddenly snapped up, and she focused her field of vision on the space to her right. A wave of strong emotion washed over her as her eyes focused on Booth, narrowed in suspicion, and her lips thinned into a hard line. Taking a step towards him, both hands on her hips, Brennan shook her head once before she opened her mouth and sneered in a low voice, raw and crackling with pure emotion, "You... you... you son of a bitch."

Booth never even saw the accompanying fist that flew to his gut when Brennan then preceded to hit him as hard as she could.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	4. Ch 4: Bested by a Lie

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p>Ch 4: Bested by a Lie of Omission<p>

* * *

><p>Booth sat on the wooden bleacher of the gymnasium staring at the wall.<p>

Sully stood a few feet away, his hands on his hips, watching his best friend give a particularly good demonstration as to why people thought he pulled off the whole brooding-Bruce-Wayne/Batman thing as well as he did. Glancing at his watch for the seventh time in the past hour or more, and frowning as his stomach rumbled again, Sully shook his head and began to walk over to the bench. _Okay,_ Sully decided. _That's it. E__nough is enough_.

"Hey, sunshine," Sully began, as he called over to his friend..

Booth's head swiveled over at the hail, and he focused a deadly glare on Sully. "Screw off," he grunted.

Shaking his head, Sully replied, "Nope. No can do, buddy."

"Seriously, Sul," Booth warned him. "I'm not in the mood."

"I know," Sully responded. "I've known that for the last ninety-six minutes since you told me that there very first time."

"And, I suppose that since you didn't listen then, you're not going to listen to me now, right?" Booth asked.

Shaking his head, Sully said, "Nope."

"God, you're such an asshole," Booth muttered.

"Takes one to know one, apparently, huh?" Sully said, coming to sit down next to his friend.

Booth's brow furrowed at Sully's comments, but he eventually decided merely to glare in response instead of slinging another verbal salvo at his friend. _What's the point, anyway? _Booth thought. _He'll just ignore it, so, why should i even bother and waste my breath? _Shaking his head slowly, the exasperation and appreciation clear in his face, Booth looked away.

Glancing at his friend, Sully knew that he needed to push him just a bit, but that he also knew he needed to tread lightly. _I don't know who that woman was, or what happened between her and Booth, but anyone who can cause him to go into instantly into such a gloom and doom mode isn't a small thing. But, even still, he's wallowed enough. _"So," Sully began gently, the change in his demeanor not lost on Booth. "You ready to tell me what that was all about?"

At Sully's words, Booth's mind flashed back to the unexpected turn of events his Saturday afternoon had taken less than two hours earlier. _God, she was here… and she hit me_, Booth thought to himself. _She hit me. I can't believe it. I can't believe she did that. She actually hit me._

After a minute or two of silence, and feeling Sully's intent stare on his person, finally Booth looked up and said, "I don't suppose you'd consider letting sleeping dogs lie, right?"

"Nope," Sully smiled. "If for no other reason that some super hot chick just beat up my best friend—"

"She didn't beat me up!" Booth suddenly interrupted Sully with a muted roar, his sharp tone giving away more of his emotional response to the entire situation than he'd intended. _Shit_. _This is so not how I pictured this thing going_, Booth mentally complained to himself. _After everything that happened, I thought if I ever saw her again it, well_—_I'm not sure what would happen, but I didn't expect her to start kicking the crap out of me. I mean, it's not like that was really fair. She just… I mean, yeah, maybe, I might've deserved being called a strong name or two—especially since she must've found out about what happened, but even still. It's not like it should've been *that* big a deal. I mean, geez—how could she just start unleashing on me like that_? _But, G__od, she's pissed. She's pissed at me_—_so pissed. And, shit_—

"She laid you out with one blow, bud," Sully said, again breaking Booth's train of thought. "Even I've _never_ be able to do that."

"She just caught me off-guard," Booth muttered. "That was all."

"Okay," Sully agreed gently. "Fine. So, let's start there. Why'd she catch you off guard, then?"

"Because," Booth vaguely explained. "I-I… I wasn't expecting to see her here. That's all. I was surprised to see her here because it was very… out of context."

"Uh huh," Sully said. "And, that's a load of vague crap meaning what exactly?"

Sighing heavily, Booth pushed himself up off of the wooden bleacher and pinched the ridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate some of his obvious frustration. It didn't work. When it was clear that he probably wasn't going to get any type of relief, from either his own mental anguish or Sully—particularly when he glanced over at his friend and saw Sully still staring at him expectantly—Booth reluctantly nod.

"Fine," he replied. "Fine, okay. I give up, I give in—"

Sully snickered at those words. "Now, I _definitely _have to know who this chick in considering the fact I've never heard you utter those words before in your _entire _life."

Shooting him another look of annoyance, Booth inclined his head at Sully. "Okay, so are you going to shut up long enough for me to explain this to you or what? You do want to hear this, right?"

"Uh, does the pope wear a funny hate?" Sully asked. "Hell, yes," he then confirmed with a happy smile.

Booth nodded again and then began to pace as he started to talk. "Okay, so you remember a couple of months ago, that night when you told me that you got into the Academy?"

"Sure," Sully said. "We went out to the Bungalow for drinks. I remember."

"Okay, well, I know I never went into details, but you know that the Jeep got dinged, right?" Booth asked.

Nodding slowly, Sully answered, "Yeah. You said it happened when some crazy woman driver hit you—" Suddenly, putting two and two together, Sully looked at the door where Brennan had stormed out of the gymnasium and disappeared over an hour and a half before, and then his gaze quickly darted back to his partner. "No way."

Booth's lips pursed as he stopped his pacing. Meanwhile, Sully shook his head and an evil smile started to spread across his face.

"No way, man," Sully repeated, shaking his head. "I'm not buying it."

Sighing, Booth nodded. "It's the truth."

"Wait," Sully said, waving his hand at Booth, a barely controlled laugh echoing clearly in his voice. "Wait, wait, wait—"

"Yes?" Booth pressed, when Sully began to shake with suppressed laughter.

"Are you telling me, seriously, that the crazy woman driver who hit you was Miss Hot N' Sexy School Teacher?" Sully asked, not quite able to contain the excitement in his voice. "Oh, please tell me that's what you're telling me."

Booth flushed a bit at Sully's exuberant appreciation of Brennan's physical attributes, but reluctantly nodded.

"Damn!" Sully boomed, what little self-control he had suddenly breaking. "You have _all_ the friggin' luck in the world, Booth. Seriously."

_I was lucky once, and then not so much as you might think_, a voice echoed in Booth's head.

Still smiling, Sully looked over and asked, "So, was she still pissed at you because… well—" His voice trailed off for a minute, and then he looked up in confusion and asked, "Wait. Why was she pissed off at you again, Booth?"

Booth opened his mouth to answer, and then he promptly snapped it shut as a vision of Brennan's creamy naked back came into his mind. He felt his pulse quicken as he remembered the way in which she had turned slowly on her heels and began to stalk towards him with only one goal in his mind. As she climbed onto the bed and started to drape her body across his, Booth moaned in pure pleasure at her mere touch— _Damn it, no,_ Booth interrupted himself, pushing the image and amazing sensations that it evoked out of his mind. _That's… that's over. It's over and done and never happening again. So, we're not going there. We're just not_—

"Booth?" Sully waved his hand at his friend, who's attention was clearly somewhere very far away from Quantico in that moment. "Yoo hoo? Earth to Booth—"

"Huh?" Booth said, as he refocused his eyes on his friend. "Ummm, what?"

"I asked," Sully said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "Why did the hot teacher chick sucker punch you?"

_Which time? _Booth immediately thought. Sighing, he slowly shook his head, uncertain how to answer Sully's question, even as he opened his mouth, "I—"

"Did she get a ticket or something for hitting you?" Sully asked, cutting off his friend.

"A ticket?" Booth asked, a wave of relief suddenly washing over him, as he seized on the solution that Sully suddenly offered to him.

"Yeah," Sully said, nodded. "A ticket. For hitting you? The accident, right?"

"Ummm, yeah," Booth recalled, slowly nodding his head as he remembered how upset Brennan had been when she'd insisted they call the police and then she'd been the one to be cited, after all. "She _was _ticketed for careless driving."

"Hmmmph," Sully said. "Well, depending on her record, that's a shitload of points on her license if she's a bad driver," he said with a shake of his head. "Plus, her rates probably went up, to say nothing of the fact that you said her car looked pretty new, and she never filed a claim against your insurance—"

"No," Booth answered.

"So, she probably had to pay for it either out of pocket herself or face a raise hike, so it's no wonder she's pissed at you," Sully said. "She should've just agreed with your original plan to let each of you go your separate ways that night, huh?"

_Yeah,_ Booth thought as his friend seemed satisfied with the answer. _Yeah, if you have any idea what happened when she didn't though. I mean, what would've happened if she hadn't insisted we call the cops and then we started arguing? One thing led to another, and then—God, what an amazing night that was... and what a fabulous morning. But, after—well, if the accident was the only reason she's angry, though, that'd be one thing. But, it's not. I know it's not.  
><em>

"So, you ready to stop doing your whole bad-ass brooding thing, or, what, buddy? I'm friggin' starving," Sully complained, again interrupting Booth's thoughts as he stretched his back with a small yawn.

Sighing, Booth arched an eyebrow as he countered, "You're always hungry."

"Point taken, but I get even more hungry when I know you're paying for the food," Sully explained.

"And, why's that again?" Booth said, nodding his agreement that it was time to leave, walking to the door as Sully fell into step beside him. As the pair continued their banter, however, there was only one thought that echoed in Booth's mind. _Damn… she's here. And, we have class on Monday. Not good, and that's so, so, so not good at all_—

* * *

><p>Dr. Temperance Brennan had stormed out of the gymnasium, moving more on instinct than on actual cognizant thought. as her flight response kicked in after her initial demonstration of her fight reflex. She'd seen red for a few minutes, and only managed to stop when she felt the warm sun of the spring afternoon fall on her face, accompanied by the mild caress of the soft breeze, and the fact finally registered that she was finally standing outside. Forcing herself to take several deep breaths to calm herself down, when she finally began to achieve some success at decreasing her racing pulse, Brennan immediately flushed as she realized what she'd done.<p>

_Oh, no, _she thought to herself, thinking of how a wave of pure and unchecked emotion had seized her as soon as she'd seen Booth again. _I can't believe I just did that… and, in front of them_—_in front of all of them. Oh, damn_—

Flushing anew with recognition of how much embarrassment her actions had cost her, particularly given the public audience who had witnessed just how good a right hook she actually possessed, Brennan didn't have much more time to herself to wallow in her own mortification, before Special Agents Warner and Kenton were hastily walking towards her.

Kenton's face was grim, it being clear he had much to say, but that he was doing his best to restrain himself from speaking out of turn. For her part, Warner seemed more concerned about how Brennan was doing herself, once the older agent saw her standing ramrod straight, fists clenched at her side, and staring off into space. Yes, the very, _very _uncharacteristic display had certainly worried her more than what Brennan had actually just done to one of their recruits once Warner had Kenton confirm that Booth had only had the wind knocked out of him.

As soon as they were standing in front of her, Brennan looked up, and stone-faced, she immediately said, "I know this in no way excuses or explains why I just assaulted one of your trainees in such a blatant public space, but I-I... I profusely apologize for my inappropriate behavior."

Warner looked at her and said with a slight nod, "I have to admit that I've been watching _all _my recruits for almost a month now, between their pre-screening interviews and the first few weeks of classes. But, I also have to say that, in all that time, this is the first instance where I've managed to see someone get the drop like that on Trainee Booth. Impropriety aside, that little move of yours was quite… impressive."

Brennan's façade almost broke at Warner's compliment.

"You know, Dr. Brennan, if the whole forensic anthropology thing at the Jeffersonian doesn't work out, you might consider applying to the Bureau. You'd make one hell of an agent," Warner mused

Tilting her head, Brennan responded, "While I'm quite certain my temperament is not ideally suited to the rigorous constraints of such a homogenizing paramilitary organization, I do appreciate the sentiments behind your words, Agent Warner. So, thank you."

"You're welcome," Warner said. She then paused for a few seconds before her demeanor changed, her tone becoming much more serious as she crossed her arms and gave Brennan a very serious look. "Now," Warner began. "I know I probably don't want to even know, but do you want to tell me what in the hell that was all about or what?"

"He's not going to press any charges," Kenton suddenly chimed in, unable to control himself anymore, and cutting off Brennan's attempt to respond to Warner's question. "Before anyone even had the chance to ask, he already said that it wasn't a big deal and that he knew the reason as to why you were upset, and he's not going to even report it because he considers the matter closed. But, that's all he was willing to say about it."

Warner watched Brennan carefully as she added, "So, I assume from Trainee Booth's comments that the two of you are acquainted?"

_Intimately so_, the thought silently chimed in Brennan's head. She pushed the thought away as she slowly nodded. "We are, or, that is to say we were."

"Right," Warner said. "I somewhat gathered that from how you responded when I introduced him—"

Brennan again flushed at Warner's comment, her cheeks flushing a slight red as she bit her bottom lip in silence. _I can't believe I did that. I can't believe... he's here. And, I did that—and, he's got another thing coming if he thinks he's going to ruin my professional reputation. I didn't want to do this instructional consultation thing before, but now—*now* I'll be damned if I'm going to let someone like Booth get in my way. He can take those friggin' puppy dog eyes of his and shove them. It's... I'm... I'm just not—no, that's it. _

"And, while I don't like to pry into people's private lives, given the fact that you are scheduled to begin a tenure as his instructor of record, I have to ask, Dr. Brennan—how do you know Mr. Booth?" Warner finished, drawing Brennan's attention back to the present conversation.

"I…" Brennan's words trailed off. For a split second, the perfect image of Booth's muscular torso, slick with sweat, glistened above her as his broad shoulders threatened to crush her. She could almost feel the touch of his warm skin on hers, flushed with warmth and excitement as he pressed her down to the bed, and she gladly welcomed the wonderful torment—_No, _she chastised herself. _None of that. That's how this all started in the first place. You let yourself get hoodwinked by a mere physical response to the breadth of his shoulders, his exquisite musculature, and the deep pigmentation of his irises. But, not now. Not ever again, Brennan. He's not worth it—he never was. So, that stops right now. Never again. _"We, uh… I was in a car accident—" she finally offered, seizing on the start of her story, but hesitating as she Kenton's eyes narrow at the beginning of Brennan's explanation. "It wasn't anything serious," she clarified. "But, two months ago, I was in a minor accident with Booth… err, Trainee Booth when I accidentally hit his SUV."

"And, that's it?" Kenton asked, a tinge of disbelief clear in his voice. "You whaled on him like that because you rear-ended him?"

Slowly, Brennan nodded. "Yes, that's it." The decision made before she even realized the words were out of her mouth, Brennan decided that in that moment, the accident was all that had ever really existed between the pair. As far as she was concerned, her relationship with Booth never extended beyond the parking lot of the Bungalow Alehouse. _That's it. That's all it was. Anything else that happened doesn't matter because it didn't. As far as I'm concerned, he's just a stranger that I briefly had to deal with because of a stupid accident. He's not any more important than that, and he never will be. _Satisfied with her choice, Brennan paused and then added, "I was the party at fault and ticketed by the Virginia State Police. It was a hefty fine, and it took a lot of time and energy to sort out. I hadn't seen Trainee Booth since the day of the accident, and I believe I may have just demonstrated a delayed reaction in venting my frustration at him for those events, even though, rationally, I know I alone bear such culpability for my actions."

"That's all?" this time it was Warner who asked, her tone softer and more kind, but still with a touch of suspicion in her voice as she pressed Brennan. _Really? That's it? A fender bender's the only thing that's rattled two of the most stable and unshakeable people I've ever met? _Warner wondered. _I don't know if I'm buying that—_

"Yes," Brennan said emphatically. "Again, I apologize for acting so… emotionally and so impulsively. It won't happen again."

Warner stared at her for a minute, and then said with a sigh, "I see."

"Of course, if you wish me to resign over this incident, I understand," Brennan continued.

Kenton opened his mouth to speak, but with a sharp look and a quick gesture, Warner silenced him.

"No," Warner said slowly. "If that's all there was to it—"

"It was," Brennan insisted.

"Then, if you apologize to Trainee Booth, and you both think you can let bygones be bygones and let the past stay in the past enough to do what you need to do in the forensics unit, I think we both know I'd be a fool to deprive my students of the opportunity to benefit from your extensive expertise and to learn what they can from you."

Brennan's jaw hardened, but she nodded once. "I'll arrange to apologize to Trainee Booth immediately. However, as I said, I take my professional obligations quite seriously. And, you're right. As I am in the best in my field, you would be depriving your students of a valuable opportunity to learn from me if we were to let this rather minor incident unduly influence the purpose of my time here at Quantico."

Warner looked at her for a minute, and then slowly, she nodded. "Very well. Apologize to Trainee Booth, and unless I hear differently from the two of you, I'll assume you two squared everything away and see you all in the seminar room at 9am sharp on Monday morning."

Brennan nodded. "That's an agreeable plan as far as I'm concerned. I'll take care of it."

"Good," Warner said, ignoring a sharp look she received from Kenton. "Then, if you're still in the mood, we can proceed—"

Warner's voice trailed off as Brennan moved to follow her back inside. However, one thought was very clear in Brennan's mind as they walked: _damn it, he's here… and that…alpha male… arrghh! He got the best of me once, but that's done and in the past. I mean it. It happened once, because I was stupid and made a really dumb, dumb choice. But, that's in the past—all in the past. From this moment on, he's nothing more to me than another trainee. I don't know him, he doesn't know me, and beyond the professor-student relationship, that's as far as things will go between the two of us. I made a mistake once, but I'm not going to do it again. i won't fall for him—it—again. What happened, happened one time—in a moment of extreme irrationality and impromptu weakness. I lost control, but I will control myself and do what I need to do to maintain professional objectivity and finish the task I came here to do. There will be nothing more than that between Booth and I. That's it. I've made up my mind, and I'm quite certain now—there's no way in hell that anything like that mistake will *ever* happen again. Ever.  
><em>

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	5. Ch 5: Bested by the Apology

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p>Ch 5: Bested by the Apology<p>

* * *

><p>"Come on, bub," Booth pleaded. "Please take it?"<p>

Stubborn brown eyes stared back at an identical set of stubborn brown eyes. The baby firmly held his father's gaze for a minute, but still unable to control the heaviness of his head on a consistent, he could only hold the stare for a minute before he twisted away and began to sniffle.

"No, no, no, Parks," Booth said, knowing where the situation was going if he didn't head it off at the pass. "You're over this part, remember? The pediatrician told your mom on your last check up, and you're mom told me earlier this morning—no more crying just to prove you can, remember?"

The baby, still sniffling, seemed to be trying to make up his mind if he was going to commit to an all out wail or was going to let his sniffles trail off into nothingness. Booth adjusted the baby in his arms and lifted the crook of his elbow a little higher so the son had no choice but to stare at the father. "Come on, Parks—please? I only have a few more hours off before I have to get back to the dorms, and I thought it might be a nice thing to do something fun on this fine Sunday afternoon, like, oh, say—finish folding my laundry. So, please —pretty please, with sugar on top, please be a good bub and just take your bottle, huh? No more crying, okay? You're my son. That means, genetically, I know you're predisposed to be hungry at all times. So, please…I know you may be doing this since I know you aren't happy that I haven't been around as much as I should be because of work, but I'm trying. I really am doing the best I can, and it won't last forever—just a couple more months. I love you, and I promise I'll make things right with us if you'll just please take your bottle?" Booth almost begged.

As his father's pleadings continued, Parker seemed to have decided that watching his father squirm seemed infinitely more interesting and amusing than going off on a crying jag. He blinked several times as Booth moved the bottle back in the vicinity of the baby's mouth, clearly trying to tempt him into compliance. Parker sniffed the smell of the warm formula several times before he slowly opened his mouth partway. Before he opened it all the way, he shot his father one final look that seemed to say: _okay, but I won't forget this conversation. You owe me._

Since Booth placed the bottle within easy reach of the baby's lips, he let out a sigh of relief when the baby jerked his head slightly to clamp down on the nipple. As he began to suck the formula, Booth nodded in agreement.

"Thank you. Thank you very, very much, bub," Booth sighed. "And, I _will_ make things right between us. I promise. I just need you to be patient just a little longer, okay?"

The baby ignored his father's words as Booth watched his son devour the formula. When Rebecca decided to she didn't like the idea of breastfeeding Parker, there hadn't really been any choice but to switch him to formula. Although Booth would never admit it to Rebecca, he actually liked being able to give the baby his bottles. "Of course, if Mommy knew that Daddy liked feeding you like this, she'd probably just try to figure out a way to see if she could get you to try to start suckling again when it was always real clear that you never liked it, huh, bub?" Booth asked, looking down at his son. "Because that's just what she does, isn't it?"

The baby seemed oblivious to Booth's backhanded mild snipe at his mother as he concentrated on devouring the bottle. Biting his lip, Booth shook his head and chided himself. _Not in front of the kid, Booth. Even if you think he can't understand it now, he probably does, and whatever's happened between you and Becks, he's a civilian. You're supposed to minimize the collateral damage, remember? _

"Sorry, bub," Booth muttered, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. "Your mom loves you all there is in the world. You know that, don't you?"

Again, Parker had no response. After he had watched his son for a couple of minutes, Booth arched an eyebrow as he said, "Man, what I wouldn't give to have a gig like yours, Parks. All you have to do is worry about eating, sleeping, crying when you want attention, and looking cute for the rest of the time." He paused, tilting his head as he added, "Of course, I can definitely handle the eating, sleeping, and looking cute part, but I'm not sure how crazy I am about the crying stuff. But, even still—"

Just as the baby was finishing the bottle, Booth's head turned in the direction of the front door when he heard the doorbell ring. Glancing at the clock, Booth frowned. He then looked down at his son as he gently stood up from where he had been propped up on the couch while the baby finished eating. "I wonder who that is, ehhh, Parks? It better not be Mommy, though, because she's not supposed to pick you up for another three hours."

As he walked to the front door, careful not to jostle the baby too much, he eventually glanced in the peep hole and sighed when he saw who it was visiting him. Glancing down at the baby, Booth muttered, "It's not Mommy, Parks, but I've got this sinking suspicion that I'm not gonna get my laundry folded before I have to go back to the Academy today, after all."

Shaking his head lightly, Booth tried to move as quickly as he could when he let the bottle fall from his right hand so that he could unlock the door. Parker immediately began to whimper when he no longer had a steady supply of formula from which to satisfy his hunger even though the bottle was mostly empty. As soon as he pulled open the door, Booth quickly brought his hand back to the bottle so the baby could finish eating without sucking into too much air from his impromptu sobs of displeasure.

Giving his visitor a look of harried distress, Booth managed a small smile of greeting as he said, "Hey, Camille."

Dr. Camille Saroyan took in the sight of Seeley Booth that greeted her eyes when he opened the door. He was dressed casually in a navy blue t-shirt and a pair of black khaki shorts with his shoulder covered by a burp cloth and a baby in his arm. Cam immediately decided that she'd never seen him look more cute or more sexier than he did at that moment—even if she wasn't going to admit that last point to him.

"Hello, Seeley," Cam smiled.

"Hi," Booth said with an exasperated sigh as he waved her into the apartment. "Can you get the door behind you? My hands are kinda full at the moment."

"Sure," Cam said with a smile as Booth turned and walked back to the couch.

Plopping down into the couch with as much care as he could so that he wouldn't disturb the baby in his arms, Booth nodded at her once she locked the front door and followed him into the family room. "So, what can I do for you, Camille?"

"You can start by not calling me 'Camille', Seeley," Cam grinned.

Booth gave her a wry grin as he said, "If I weren't as tired as I was, I might have some witty retort for you, but for now, you're just gonna have to deal with the good ole standby of 'Don't call me, Seeley' because I have a baby here, and I'm not afraid to use him."

Reaching out, Cam uncharacteristically asked, "Can I hold him?"

"Well, that's why you're here, right?" Booth asked as he handed the baby over to his friend. "It's not coincidence that this is my first bit of alone time with him all week and you show up, right, Cam?"

As she took the baby and looked at him with barely concealed pleasure, her eyes momentarily snuck up as she flashed a guilty look at Booth. "Yeah, well, I can't help it if Becca might've mentioned that she was going to get her hair done at the salon since you had the baby today so we couldn't do lunch. Since my best-friend blew me off to go get her roots dyed, I thought I might see how my other best-friend was doing with the Little Mister Man, here." She enunciated her finally words in a playful voice as Parker finished his bottle.

Pointing at the burp cloth on Booth's shoulder, Cam said, "Here, give me that, and I'll burp him."

Somewhat surprised, Booth slowly handed over the burp cloth to her as he gave her a look that corresponded with the strangeness of how he viewed her request.

"What?" Cam said, as she put the towel over her shoulder. "I'm not an only child, Booth—oldest of three, remember? I was changing Felicia and Tim's diapers all the friggin' time when we were growing up."

"Yeah, well," Booth chuckled. "I just never have gotten used to the idea of you being so motherly-like, Cam—seeing you be maternal is kinda freaky."

"Well, that's because you've been deployed since I was with Andrew and had to basically become a mom to his daughter," Cam said wistfully.

Booth knew that her breakup with the doctor the previous had still left a bitter taste in Cam's mouth. "Sorry, Cam. I didn't mean to bring up any bad thoughts about Andrew...or Michelle."

As Cam shifted Parker to her shoulder and started to rub the baby's back, she shook her head, having quickly regained her composure and hidden the flash of pain that had briefly shone very clearly in her dark brown eyes. "No worries, Booth. I'm okay. Really."

"You sure?" Booth asked. "Because, I know… from you're letters and what Becks told me when I came back, I remember that the break up was rough—"

Cam's eyes narrowed as she said, "Has Becca been telling tales about me again? Because, it sure sounds like it, and it might be a good idea to tell me how hard do I need to smack her in the head the next time I see her—"

"Not very hard," Booth chuckled. "She did mention that you handled it as well as you could, but that it was still tough—"

"Well, it was, Seeley," Cam said, her voice softening. "I was with him for over two years. We were engaged to be married. I was a mother to his daughter. That's a lot to get over just like that." To illustrate her point, she lightly snapped her fingers. At the sound, Parker's head jerked in the direction of Cam's fingers, and he made a face at the sudden noise. "Oh, come on, Little Mister Man," Cam crooned soothingly. "While your Moro Reflex is just fine, there's no need to get any ants in your pants and start making a ruckus, huh?"

Booth stared at his friend as he watched the baby unscrew his face and start to make a slight smile as Cam shifted him back to her shoulder and resumed trying to get him to burp. "Okay," Booth said as he pointed his finger at Cam. "Who are you, what have you done with Camille Saroyan, and what in the hell is Parker's Moral Reflex?" Booth asked.

Cam snickered as she said, "'Moro Reflex', Booth. It's his ability to respond to sudden noises or uncomfortable situations in a fearful manner because he hasn't learned how to self-soothe yet."

"Oh," Booth grumbled. "Yeah. Becks been trying to get me to work with her on this whole self-soothing thing, but I don't care. When he cries, I have to go pick him up. I know what she, and about a gazillion other experts, say—I shouldn't because he'll turn into some super pansy or something if he thinks all he has to do is cry to get attention, but I don't care. I hate it when he cries, so if he cries, I pick him up."

"And, how did you get through him having colic again?" Cam asked as the baby finally burped, she shifted him back in her arms.

"Earplugs," Booth deadpanned. "Lots and lots of ear plugs and an occasional fifth of Jameson's Irish Whiskey." Cam stared at him, and Booth gave her a toothy grin as he said, "Both the earplugs and the whiskey were for me, by the way."

"Uh huh," Cam said. "So, now that we've got the entertainment portion of our program out of the way… how's it been going, Seeley? I feel like I haven't seen you since the baby was born." She paused and then bounced the baby a bit as she said, "Gosh, he's gotten so big, and I just saw him a couple of weeks ago."

"Yeah," Booth nodded. "The little bub there put on two and a half pounds since his last checkup from what Becks told me. I swear, he's twice as big as he was the last time I had him for a night over."

"And, how long ago was that?" Cam asked in curiosity.

With a sad look, Booth said, "Since before I started the Academy—there just hasn't been much time for a lot of other stuff."

"So, me feeling like I haven't seen you in forever isn't an exaggeration, is it?" Cam asked.

"No," Booth told her. "It isn't. You feel that way because you haven't seen a lot of me, Camille," Booth said as he walked over and reached out for the baby. Parker, now fed and burped, seemed content to doze, and Booth brought him over to bassinet so that he could nap in relative comfort. Once the baby was settled, and Booth had placed a light kiss on his forehead, he tucked Parker's light purple blanket around him and then threw himself back down on the couch. Nodding at Cam, he asked, "You want a beer? I don't have much in the fridge since I'm only here a few hours a week because of the Academy, but I know I still have some Yuengling in there that's cold."

"Sure," Cam nodded in agreement.

As Booth got up with a mild groan and walked into the kitchen, Cam's eyes darted around the apartment. She smiled as she gazed at Parker's bassinet and then frowned when her eyes fell upon a large bouquet of white and stripped carnations that stood on one of the empty bookshelves of Booth's built-in.

"Hey, Booth?" Cam called out.

"Yeah?" Booth replied as he returned to the family room, two cold bottles of beer in hand.

Taking one, Cam said, "Thanks." She waited until Booth had plopped down again and then pointed, "So, ummm… who's sending you flowers?"

Booth glanced at the bouquet before he frowned. "Oh, those."

"Yeah," Cam said. "Care to explain?"

Licking his lips, Booth leaned forward and plucked a thick envelope from off of his coffee table. He handed the heavy stationary to Cam and nodded, "That came with the flowers."

"What is it?"

"An apology," Booth muttered. "Or, at least, it was supposed to be one."

Arching an eyebrow, Cam asked, "That sounds like there's a story there."

Nodding, Booth said, "Yeah." He paused, running his hand absentmindedly through his hair as he began what he knew would be a painful explanation given Cam's cop instinct and inability to let most things lie. "Ummm, yesterday, right after class, I sorta got sucker punched—"

"Damn it," Cam said, shaking her head in clear displeasure. "That's it. I'm going to kick Sully's ass. I told him that enough is enough—"

Shaking his head, Booth said, "It wasn't Sully, Cam."

"Oh," Cam said, most of the fight that had instantaneously appeared disappearing almost as quickly as it had come. "Well, then, ummm… what happened? I've never known you to let a guy get the drop on you if you can possibly help it."

"Guy, yeah," Booth nodded. "Girl, no."

At this, both of Cam's eyebrows raised as she repeated, "Girl?"

Booth reluctantly nodded. "Uhhh, yeah. There's sorta this thing at the Academy, and one of the consultants who happens to be my forensic instructor sort of popped me."

"Why? What happened?" Cam said, again concern coming into her voice. "Did you file charges, Seeley? What happened?"

"No," Booths said with a shake of his head. "I didn't file charges. And, I'm not going to, either."

"Why?" Cam asked. "You just said it yourself—this woman attacked you, _assaulted _you, Seeley."

"Naaaw," Booth said, as he waved off Cam's concern. "It wasn't _that _bad. She just has a mean right hook that knocked the wind out of me and hurt my pride more than anything else." He stopped, took a sip of beer, and looked away as he said in a lower voice, "Besides, I might've had it kinda/sorta coming, anyway."

"Booth—" Cam said, the warning in her tone clear.

Booth winced as soon as he heard the tone because he recognized it instantly. It was Cam's 'don't mess with me, I'm a cop from the Bronx' tone of voice. Mentally, sighing, Booth took a long sip of his beer, and then began to speak. After he had given Cam an abbreviated version of the altercation with Brennan, giving much the same altered explanation for her behavior as he given to Sully, Booth pointed at the envelope that Cam still held in her hands.

"So, that's her apology," Booth said. "She did take the liberty of having it messengered over personally. And, I guess I should feel special and all since I know that's the important Jeffersonian stationary with the VIP watermark, but even still, I can't help but feel that she's basically giving me the finger at the same time she's supposed to be saying she's sorry."

"And, why's that again?" Cam asked, as she gestured with the letter. "This seems to be a very concise and straight-to-the-point apology: 'Dear Trainee Seeley J. Booth: Please accept my sincere apologies for the personal misconduct I engaged in yesterday on the premises of the FBI Academy at Quantico…' —"

"Yada, yada, yada," Booth said with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, the letter's fine, Cam. You're right. It _is_ pretty standard so far as I can tell."

"Then, why do you feel like she's backhanding you at the same time she's supposed to be apologizing?" Cam asked.

With a jerk of his thumb, Booth pointed at the flowers.

"What?" Cam inquired, when she saw where Booth was pointing. "The bouquet?"

"Yup," Booth nodded.

"What's wrong with the bouquet? They look like there really high quality flowers, Booth. And, they're pretty, too."

"Yeah, pretty, sure—" Booth agreed. "But, the colors, Cam. It's all about the symbolism."

"Colors?" Cam said with a shrug of her shoulders. "What about them?"

Pointing at her, Booth said, "I looked up what it means when a person sends white and stripped carnations, Cam. Two dozen of 'em, mind you."

"Okay," Cam said, knowing she was using her 'indulge Booth' voice as she continued. "What do you think they mean? The purity of her apology or something?"

"Nope," Booth said as he glared at the carnations. "The white carnations can also mean disdain, and the stripped ones mean refusal."

"Uh huh," Cam said. "So, she's refusing you with disdain?"

Although Cam didn't know why, Booth had a strange look in his eyes as he nodded and said, "Yeah. That's about the size of it."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	6. Ch 6: Bested by the FBI Trainee

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p>Ch 6: Bested by the FBI Trainee<p>

* * *

><p>For the first four days, Booth had endured the six hours he had to spend in Dr. Temperance Brennan's forensics classroom with as much good grace as he could manage. True to her word, as outline in the very impersonal apology, Brennan had treated Booth with all the respect, courtesy, and deference that their professional relationship had demanded. For the first four days, their interaction had been the model of propriety, with he and Brennan only interacting in ways that even the most fussbudget of chaperones would find appropriate if they were watching to see how the pair would interact. And, in a way, Booth and Brennan were being watched with a keen interest as the eyes of Agents Warner and Kenton rarely left them.<p>

However, when it became clear that there would be no further impropriety between the pair after Kenton spent the entire day with the class to make certain there were no more 'incidents', the stress for the two FBI agents lightened up—and the stress for Booth merely increased.

On Friday afternoon, as the class was ending for the day, Brennan handed back their exams from the prior day. Booth frowned when he saw an 80/B- staring back up at him, and cringed a bit when he noticed the red marks that had bled all over his test. Glancing over next to him, he couldn't help but want to smack Sully when his friend gave a lopsided smile as he flipped through his exam.

"What?" Sully asked, when he noticed Booth giving him a dirty look. "What'd I do now?"

'What'd you get that's making you so happy?" Booth asked.

Pulling the test towards him, Sully gave him an annoying grin as he said, "Wouldn't you just like to know?"

"Sully, seriously. Don't give me any crap. Just tell me how you did," Booth said.

"Well enough," Sully told his friend, punctuating his words with enough emphasis to make it clear that he didn't care if Booth knew what grade he received or not, but that he was just being difficult.

"Sul—" Booth growled, the warning clear in his voice.

"I'm not telling," Sully laughed, the mirth clear in his voice. "Wouldn't you just like to know though, huh, Booth?"

And, suddenly, as Booth stood up and grabbed the test out of Sully's hands, his friend made no more than token protest. Booth scowled a bit as he saw an 84/B staring back at him on Sully's test. While a fair amount of red ink seemed to also have been spilled on Sully's exam, the four points that graced his friend's exam and were missing from his own only seemed to gall Booth all the more. "What the hell?" he said as he handed Sully the exam back with a huff. "I studied much more than you did on that test, and I was hitting the books for at least twice as long as you did. So, what gives?"

"Well," Sully shrugged. "I think this is just another indicator that you need to come to accept in your prolonged denial of the fact that I am inherently a smarter person than you are, Booth."

"Like hell you are," Booth grunted.

Reaching over, Sully plucked Booth's exam from his brooding friend's hand. Giving it a quick once over as he flipped through, Sully gave the exam a sharp tap when he reached the second-to-last page before he handed back to his friend. "Well, there are your four extra points. My answer on the procedure involving the blood spatter and use of UV light was better than yours, Booth."

Scowling, Booth reached over and took Sully's exam to compare to his own. Indeed, when he looked and saw that Sully's explanation about the chemical composition of blood interacting with certain agents present at the hypothetical crime scene was better than his own, he sighed.

"You know, it sucks that just because you've got a better science background than me because you woke up one morning and decided you wanted to play at being a paramedic—"

"EMT," Sully interrupted with a growl.

"Whatever," Booth said with a roll of his eyes. "I don't understand why that means you should have it easier than me when it comes to stuff like this."

"It's just how the ball bounces, so quit your bitchin', Booth. It's not like it doesn't all even out in the end with your kicking everyone's asses on the range with your 'look-at-me-I'm-so-special-because-I-was-an-Army-Ranger-sniper-thing'. So, deal," Sully told him simply.

Although Booth knew that Sully was right, it still galled him that he hadn't done as well as his friend. More importantly, it bothered him that he hadn't done better in front of Brennan. _It's a fair assessment of the test, but only because this egghead crap's never been my strong suit, _he grudgingly admitted to himself. _That doesn't mean I have to like it_, _though, _Booth mentally complained. However, as he glanced at the test, another idea started to come to him. As the plan crystallized in his head, Booth decided that his score on the test might serve another purpose.

"I'm going to go talk to her about it," Booth said suddenly, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"Who?" Sully asked absentmindedly as he again flipped through Booth's test.

"Dr. Brennan," Booth clarified, nodding to himself as he made up his mind. "I'm going to go talk to her. Right now."

At this, his friend's attention was quite squarely focused to Booth as he shot him a look of complete disbelief. "Yeah, right," he said with a slight snort.

"What?" Booth asked, his brow furrowing at Sully's words.

At the clear look of annoyance on his face, Sully's slight snort became a fully snicker. "I'll believe it when I see it, bro," Sully told him.

"Believe what?" Booth asked. "Could you be a little bit more vague, Sul?"

"You've been acting lall Miss Emily Post over there when it's come to the hottie doctor all week," Sully said.

Booth frowned at his words. "You know, if I were you, Sul, I'd keep my voice down. She's got better hearing than Warner, and I know that if she hears you call her that…or any of the more creative names you've got for her—" Which, some of them, Booth had to admit, were quite funny, even if they _did _unusually focus on the fact that Sully thought Brennan was hot and had a great pair of breasts. "—she's probably going to be the first person to make you regret mouthing off, Sully."

His friend considered Booth's words and then shrugged. "What's she going to do? Hit me in the gut like she did to you?" Sully then waggled his eyebrows as he said, "Then again, if she does do that, as long as she's wearing that cute skirt she wore yesterday, I think it might be worth it."

At his lascivious grin, Booth rolled his eyes and sighed.

Sully's grin widened at his friend's typical response. "Anyway, like I was saying, I'll believe it when I see it."

"Believe what again?" Booth replied.

"I'll believe it when I see you get your ass up there and actually interact with her in any meaningful way," Sully told him. "You've been last one here and first one out the door all week, and if I didn't know you any better, Booth, I'd say it was because you were scared of being alone with her."

"I'm not scared of Temperance Brennan," Booth scoffed, only partially admitting the truth. _I'm not scared of her, really. I just…I just wish she'd talk to me so I could figure out how to fix what went wrong between us, because I hate to admit it, but I really, *really* liked her, _Booth admitted only to himself. As if to compensate, he verbally added, "I'm not scared of anyone, Sul—least of all someone like her."

"I dunno," Sully said. "Your behavior says otherwise, Booth." He stopped and lowered his voice as he said in a comforting tone, "And, it's okay if you are. I mean, if I were you I probably wouldn't want to be alone with her again in case she laid me out again." He gave his friend a very deadpan look.

Not one to take a taunt like that from Sully even on a good day, and since his mind had been more than half made up anyway, Booth suddenly stood up and grabbed the test. "You think you're so smart, Sully. Well, get ready to believe, buddy, because here I go."

Booth confidentially walked down the seminar room's main aisle towards the podium where Brennan had set up her base of operations. She was gathering up her belongings and placing them in a leather messenger bag as she prepared to leave. When she saw someone approaching, she glanced up, and her nondescript look turned to a mild frown she realized who it was.

"Trainee Booth," she said with the same monotonous tone and cold bearing that she'd used all week with him as she acknowledged his presence with a nod. Booth stopped himself from wincing when he recalled how much of a façade her tone and bearing were because he had seen her in a very different—much warmer and much more giving—mood. "What can I do for you?"

As soon as she spoke, for a second, Booth found that his tongue wouldn't work. He dumbly held up the exam, and Brennan glanced at it.

Nodding, she said, "Did you have a question about your exam?"

Booth stared at the exam, and the his eyes drifted back to Brennan, before he slowly shook his head as he found his voice again. "No, I didn't."

Brennan's small frown deepened as she said, "Then, what is it, Trainee Booth? Is there some portion of my lecture today that you had difficulty with—perhaps there was a point that you needed clarified because there was a concept that you were unable to comprehend and thus you require further explanation?"

Shaking his head again, Booth said, his voice still low, "No. That's no why I wanted to talk to you."

Her body tensing, Brennan said, "Then, I assume that you mean that you wish to discuss something with me of a personal nature, then?"

Booth nodded.

With a sigh, Brennan said, "When you didn't say anything about the written apology I sent, I'd hoped that we could let b-gones be bygones, Trainee Booth."

"The apology was fine," Booth said slowly.

"And, then flowers?" Brennan asked, her eyes narrowing as she spoke. "What about the flowers?"

"They were very nice, very pretty," Booth told her. "And, that's what I wanted to talk to you about…that other little message you sent, that wasn't lost on me, by the way."

Brennan's eyes continued to narrow suspiciously as she said, "Good. I'd hoped that I wasn't as mistaken as I'd thought I was in assessing your intelligence level, Trainee Booth. I'm glad you got my point even for all the challenge presented by the subtlety of its delivery, but given the situation that we both find ourselves in, I'm sure you understand why certain things can only be said in certain ways, correct?"

"No," Booth shook his head sharply as he contradicted her. "I don't."

Looking at him, Brennan held Booth's gaze for a minute before she nodded. "Very well. Then, I'm afraid I have nothing to say to you until our next lecture on Monday, Trainee Booth."

"Yeah," Booth nodded at her. "Your flowers made that patently clear."

"Then, I suggest you heed my message and leave my classroom. We've adjourned for the day, so it's appropriate that we all leave and go about our business as if this never happened, Trainee Booth," Brennan said.

"Seriously?" Booth said, struggling to keep his tone to the hushed whisper he'd used. "Seriously, you want to pretend what happened between us never occurred?"

"Yes," Brennan said, her chin firm as she looked at him. "I think that's the best way to proceed for all involved."

"Well, too bad," Booth told her. "Because, you're not the only one involved in this, and so that means, you don't get to make unilateral decisions."

"I've said all I have to say to you, Trainee Booth. And, for some reason I can't fathom, yet you don't seem to be able, or for some inane reason have deliberately chosen, to ignore that point. So, again, I repeat—unless it's related in some way to your course work in my seminar, I don't want to talk to you. I've said all I want or need to say on the matter," Brennan told him.

"Yeah, well I haven't," Booth told her, the soft rumble in his voice clearly warning her. "So, I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan, but that's not a choice you get to make anymore. Now, we can either do this here and now, or you can agree to meet with me in private. But, either way, you _are _going to talk to me."

A flash of anger shone in Brennan's blue eyes as her brow furrowed in annoyance at him. "Who do you think you are?" she muttered.

"I think I'm a guy who care about you and who wants—" Booth began.

"Don't be foolish. You don't know anything about me, Trainee Booth," Brennan cut him off. "Let alone that you know enough to 'care about' me."

"Bren—" Booth's tone changed slightly as he began.

As soon as the single word was out of his mouth, Brennan's eyes widened in anger. "First, keep your voice down," she hissed. "And, second, it's 'Dr. Brennan'," she corrected him. "You will address me by my proper title, Trainee Booth. It's Dr. Brennan to you."

"Fine, _Dr. Brennan_," Booth said, his voice clearly emphasizing her title, almost as if to mock her. "I don't care what you want me to call you, but you are going to talk to me—"

"Or, what?" she volleyed back. "What can you possibly do to get me to comply with your request?"

He paused for a moment, holding her gaze intently and refused to back down. Finally, he nodded, his choice made. "If you don't agree to talk to me, I'll go to Warner and tell her we were both lying when we said the only thing that happened between us was the accident," Booth said simply.

"You wouldn't," Brennan immediately said.

"Try me," Booth said. "I think you know me well enough just over the course of this week's past classes to know that I don't bluff, Dr. Brennan."

"If you did that you'd get us both in trouble," Brennan said. "I might be fired, but at the very worst, you could get kicked out of the Academy."

"Probably not," Booth said. "Reprimanded, sure, but I doubt I'd get booted on my first offense, especially since it happened before either of us was at the Academy. But, even if I did, I don't care. It they cut me, they cut me. I'll take that as a sign from God that I'm supposed to find another path, and I'll work things out somehow. But, in either case, it should tell you how serious I am."

"So, what are you trying to do here, Trainee Booth?" Brennan asked him carefully.

"Blackmail you," Booth said simply.

"Blackmail a federal law enforcement consultant?" Brennan asked.

Booth nodded. "Yup."

"I don't like it," Brennan said simply.

Booth shrugged. "I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to."

Brennan considered the no-win scenario that Booth had backed her into, and sighed a sigh of clear frustrated exasperation. "Fine. You're in."

"I thought as much," Booth said with a smile.

Glancing at her watch, Brennan bent down and scribbled an address on a piece of paper and quickly threw it at Booth. He didn't bother to look at it as he shoved it in his pocket.

"I assume since it's the weekend, you have a few hours off tonight?" she inquired.

Booth nodded.

"Fine," she told him. "I'll give you fifteen minutes. Be at that address at 9 o'clock. And, don't be late."

Spinning on her heels, she grabbed her bag and promptly walked away.

Feeling quite pleased with himself, Booth allowed himself a small smile as he walked back to where Sully had watched almost the entire exchange.

"So, she didn't sock you," Sully mused.

"Nope," Booth said, as he grabbed his belongings in one smooth move of his hands.

"Then, what'd she say?" Sully asked.

"She suggested that I talk to someone if I had questions that she couldn't answer here," Booth said vaguely.

"What?" Sully asked. "Like a tutor or something?"

Booth shrugged, swallowing a larger grin. "Yeah, Sul. Something like that. It was something "

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	7. Ch 7: Bested by a Misunderstanding

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p>Ch 7: Bested by a Misunderstanding<p>

* * *

><p>Once again, Booth found himself sitting in a familiar well-worn wooden booth at the Bungalow Alehouse off of the Prince William Parkway in Maryland. His dislike of the place was just as keen as it had been several months earlier. However, unlike that previous evening when Booth had been waiting for Sully, on this particular evening, his thoughts were distracted as he waited for her. Booth had gotten there forty-five minutes early and sat in the parking lot for almost a half hour before he went inside. It was pure coincidence to him that he pulled into in the row that was opposite from where his SUV had been parked on the night he'd first met her. He'd stared at the parking space for a long time, letting images of their meeting play in his mind. Her anger, impatience, self-righteous indignation, and egotistical tenacity had simultaneously irritated, impressed, and inflamed him that night. Eventually, glancing at the spot one last time with one last shake of his head, Booth had gotten out of his Jeep and gone inside.<p>

Spending the next fifteen minutes alternating between glancing at the clock and sipping his beer, he began to wonder if he'd put it past her to stand him up. He pondered the idea for several minutes as he watched the clock. However, in the end, Booth decided that it would be unlike Brennan not to keep her word for three reasons. First, she'd made the commitment, albeit under duress, but she'd still given him her word. Second, it wasn't like he wouldn't see her the following week in class if she chose to stand him up. Third, and finally, there was just the little issue of his threat to blackmail her is she didn't meet to talk with him. So, she could face him now or later, but eventually she'd have to face him, and Brennan didn't seem to Booth like the type to back away from a challenge

Booth smiled to himself at _that_ particular impromptu piece strategy on his part. He'd been rather pleased with himself after the fact when he managed to come up with that rather inspired—at least what _he_ considered to be inspired—method of 'persuasion' finally to get Brennan to speak with him. _But, then again, I always do my best thinking on the fly, so yeah, that's not all that surprising, huh? _Booth thought to himself.

Reaching down to take another sip of beer, Booth glanced at the clock once more as he saw that it was almost nine o'clock. Wondering if Brennan would be the type of keep him waiting out of mere spite, even if she did finally show up, Booth's question was quickly answered when, at precisely 8:59pm on the dot, Brennan entered the restaurant. He saw that she was dressed differently from the drab brown skirt suit that she'd been wearing earlier in the day. Instead, she was now dressed in more casual attire, a dark red knit top hidden underneath a black short cropped jacket over dark blue jeans. The simple kitten heeled black boots she wore completed the ensemble. In contrast, her makeup hadn't changed from that afternoon, although her hair was now pulled back into a low and somewhat messy ponytail. Brennan had only stopped for the span of a few seconds when the hostess greeted her. Scanning the confines of the bar and dining room, she quickly spotted Booth, gave the hostess a curt nod, and then marched with purpose towards where he sat. When she reached the table, she flung herself into the booth and raised her eyes to meet his in a clearly hostile glare.

"I'm here," Brennan said, grounding out each word.

"And, punctual, too," Booth smiled casually as he sipped his beer. "Early even."

"I said 9 o'clock. It's 9 o'clock," Brennan said. "Now—" she paused as she glanced at her wristwatch. "You wanted to talk badly enough to blackmail me into compliance, so fine. I'm here. Let's talk. You have…ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Booth said. "I don't remember agreeing to that condition."

"You didn't," Brennan replied. "It was unilaterally dictated."

"Oh, I see," Booth told her. He paused and then nodded, "You're very good at that, aren't you?"

"Why am I here, Trainee Booth?" she said as she narrowed her eyes at him.

Setting his pint glass down, Booth leaned forward in the booth and looked at her. "Hey, why don't you cut that stuff out, huh? We're off the clock, and as far as I'm concerned, we left that 'Trainee Booth'/'Dr. Brennan' crap at Quantico."

"You may be okay with such an assumption, but I'm not, Trainee Booth," Brennan retorted sharply.

"You know," Booth told her. "There was a time when you were okay with calling me 'Booth'…just Booth. Remember?"

Brennan narrowed her eyes at him as she said, "That was a long time ago—"

"Not so long ago," Booth said. "Not so long ago that I finally get you to agree to talk to me about what happened, and you choose the place where we first met. Don't think that's lost on me, Bren."

"Don't call me that—" Brennan snapped at him. "I told you—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Booth said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yeah, I got it—'Dr. Brennan'. Right."

"And, for your information," Brennan added, her voice still quite sharp. "I chose this place because it was close, public, but a place where it was likely we wouldn't be seen. But, most importantly, it was neutral territory."

"Uh huh," Booth said. "Is that so?"

Brennan glared at him for a minute, and in that minute, their server took the unfortunate opportunity to interrupt the pair. Looking at Brennan, the young man who's nametag read 'Morris', gave her a fake smile of greeting that he had plastered onto his face as he said, "Good evening, ma'am. Welcome to the Bungalow Alehouse. Although our late-night happy hour doesn't start for another fifty-five minutes, we have several drinks specials that I can tell you about—"

"That won't be necessary," Brennan said, not breaking eye contact with Booth. "I won't be staying long."

"Oh," Morris said, seemingly taken aback by her terse demeanor. Turning to Booth, he said, "Well, in that case, can I get you another, sir?"

"Sure," Booth said as he quickly drained what was left of his pint in a quick series of gulps. Setting the empty pub glass in front of Brennan, he nodded at her and said, "You should have a drink_, Dr. Brennan_. Go ahead, and get whatever you want—it's on me."

Morris looked to her, and she broke eye contact with Booth long enough to shake her head. "No. That's necessary."

"Oh, come on, _Dr. Brennan_," Booth said, with an unspoken dare clearly shining in his eyes. "Have a drink."

Narrowing her eyes, she nodded, and said, "Fine. Bud Light draft."

Morris nodded. "And, another Yuengling, sir?"

Booth nodded.

"Okay, I'll go get those and be right back," Morris smiled just a bit too cheerily before he gave them a nod and then inconspicuously disappeared.

After a couple of minutes, Morris had quietly deposited their beers in front of them, although neither one of the pair seemed to notice.

After a few more minutes had passed, the pair continued to stare at each other, each one lost in his or her own thoughts. Neither one was willing to back down, and so they just continued to look at one another, perhaps trying to see who could intimidate the other into finally backing down. However, as both of them had suspected the first night they had met, the pair of them were both very evenly matched in emotional intensity, stubbornness, and stamina. Knowing that Booth was perfectly capable of going the entire night with how things were between them if she let them—because she'd foolishly gained first-hand knowledge of how well he could last all night doing _other _things when he wanted to—logic dictated to Brennan that eventually she was the one who was going to have to concede unless she wanted to be there all night. At the mere thought of the words 'Booth' and 'stamina', Brennan's mind played a nasty trick on her as an image she had worked very, _very _hard t bury popped unbidden into her mind. The sight of Booth's hard body—naked but for the sweat that glistened over his broad shoulders and well-defined musculature as he leaned down to pull her into another searing kiss—danced in front of her eyes for a few seconds. She then looked in front of her, saw the vague outline of his well-toned musculature of the well-loved Talking Heads dark blue t-shirt that he wore, and she flushed as she knew what was hidden beneath the thin layer of cotton. Disgusted with her weak moment, Brennan mentally berated herself for allowing such a moment of useless indulgence in a moment of obvious weakness effect her vow to _never _think of Booth like that again. Pushing the image away with a ruthless vengeance, Brennan bit her lip as she stared at him with her anger at herself fueling her response.

_I will __never__ do that again_, Brennan thought to herself. _It was one of the worst mistakes I've ever made, and it was all because I was an idiot and fell for his good lucks and charming smile. 'Stay'. That's what really did me in, wasn't it? Him thinking he could boss me around like that, and give me orders? And, then_—_then__ even when I went against my better judgment and stayed, what did he do? I just can't_—_I can't believe I was so wrong abut him. I can't believe I fell for his line, I trusted him. Damn it! This is not helping. He wanted to talk, so that's it. We'll talk, and then I'm leaving because I want to be as far away for him as possible_, Brennan thought. _So, fine. If that means that I have to be the bigger person here so we can move this little farce along, fine_—_just as long as I can get the hell out of here and get away from him, I'll do whatever I have to do_—

For his part, Booth watched Brennan with an interested look in his eyes. _What are you thinking about, Bren? What's going through that head of yours? God, you really are a gorgeous woman, do you know that? _Booth stopped, thought of her ego, and then mentally nodded to himself. _Of course you do. You know it, and that just makes you even hotter. Damn. Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you let me try to make amends? Come on, Bren_—_just say __something__, and we'll go from there, because I know I can make things right if you just let me try. Please_—

Eventually, with a heavy sigh, Brennan reached down, took her beer, and lifted it to her lips. Taking a long sip of the beer, she then set it down on the table, tilted her head at him, and said, "So, I'm here. I even ordered a drink like you wanted me to. Now, are you going to tell me what you wanted to talk about so badly that you felt you needed to blackmail me?"

Booth pursed his lips, took a sip of his own beer, set it back down on the frayed and waterlogged coaster that sat in front of him, and nodded at her. "Okay. Here's what I want to talk about—"

"I'm all ears, I believe the saying goes, so let's get this thing over with so I can get the hell out of here, okay?" Brennan interrupted him.

Smiling at her, Booth inclined his head as he said, "I'd like to have an honest answer to my question."

"Considering the fact that _I _don't lie—unlike _some _people—the first part isn't a problem. However, since I'm not a mind reader—were such a feat even possible—I'm unable to comply with your request unless you're more specific," Brennan told him.

"I want to know why you hit me," Booth said simply. "Why did you hit me?"

"Because you deserved it?" Brennan offered, a very matter-of-fact look plainly writ on her face. She then smirked as she added, "And then some."

Shaking his head as he sensed her hostility, Booth tried to appeal to her. "Look, Bren," Booth said with a heavy sigh. "I understand that you're upset with me because of what happened—"

"You have _no_ idea how incredibly angry I am with you!" Brennan suddenly snapped, infuriated at his calm and casual demeanor. "_No idea_, Booth. None." She stopped, leaned back into the booth, and crossed her arms as she stared at him, the anger of which she spoke clearly burning in her bright blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," Booth said slowly. "I know that probably doesn't help things, and that I should've said it a long time ago, but it's not like I wouldn't have tried if you would actually have taken my calls—"

"You knew who I was, Booth," Brennan said shaking her head. "Do you have _any _notion of what you did when you pulled that little stunt of yours?"

"Stunt?" Booth said, shaking his head. "How is me not calling you back—which I didn't actually do, by the way, you just wouldn't take my calls—a stunt, Bren?"

At his words, Brennan's eyes widened. They then quickly narrowed as she said, "My God. You're completely and totally egotistical, you know that?"

"Me?" Booth retorted. "Me? You think _I'm_ the one that's egotistical here?"

"Yes!" Brennan snapped, her voice of a louder tone than she'd meant. Her single word had drawn the attention of a few bystanders. When she noticed they gained an audience, she flushed, bit her lip, and then lowered her tone as she said, "Yes, yes, I do, Booth."

"And, why's that again?" Booth asked, when he noticed that she lowered her tone to compensate for her outburst. When she did so, most of the attention they'd attracted by her exclamation fell away. But, to be on the safe side, Booth leaned in across the table and lowered his voice as well. "Especially when _you're _the one who took things so friggin' personally."

Snickering, Brennan retorted as she rolled her eyes at him, "God, you're so _male_! I didn't hit you because I was upset that you never…well, that you blew me off after we had sex, Booth." She stopped, shook her head, and then added, "To have a strong enough emotional response to _that _particular happenstance, I would've had to have been substantially more affected by our encounter than I actually was, thank you very much."

"Oh, really?" Booth questioned her. "What? Is this the part where you said it wasn't a big deal?"

"It wasn't," Brennan said with a small shrug of her shoulders. "And, moreover, I think we both know that _now_."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you, Bren. We both know—" Suddenly, a part of Booth's brain caught up to process everything Brennan had said. As he did so, a look of confusion settled over Booth's face as he shook his head, "Wait, what?"

"I said," Brennan repeated. "That I didn't hit you because of…well, because of what happened between us as far as the sex goes."

"Then…wait," Booth said, shaking his head slightly, still obviously confused by her words. "I don't understand. If you didn't sucker punch me because of what happened that night, then why in the name of everything that is holy did you hit me?"

"Like I said," Brennan told him as she leaned in over the table as well and pointed at him with a sharp jab of her index finger in the air just above his chest. "I never said that I didn't hit you because of what happened that night—all I said was that I didn't hit you because of anything _personal _that happened between us, Booth." She stopped, looking away as her nostrils flared in clear agitation as she leaned back in her seat. Turning her head back to look over at him, she shook her head slowly as she said, "God, do you know what you almost did with that little stunt you pulled? And, I have to admit, Booth, I'm still not sure _why _you did it. Was it just to make a point? Or, did I miss something, and I misjudged your intent, and you really are more of a vindictive son of a bitch than I thought?"

Still confused, Booth shook his head as he waved his hands in supplication and said, "Okay, I gotta admit I'm lost here—"

"Don't insult my intelligence by playing dumb with me, Booth," Brennan retorted sharply. "That didn't work the first time—even if I did fall for your cute-charming-grin-thing that you do so _damn _well, by the way, since it did let you get me into bed that night—but, the point is, it didn't work the night of the accident, and it won't this time."

Annoyed that she seemed to think he was guilty of some grand transgression against her, Booth narrowed his eyes as he said, "Just what is it that you think I did, Bren?"

"You know _exactly _what you did, Booth," Brennan scoffed. She stopped, stared at him for a minute, and then said, "Do you have any idea what you almost did to me? I could've lost my security clearance because of you!" She stared at him, the fury clearly evident in her eyes as she stood up and shook her head at him. "You've had your ten minutes, more than your ten minutes, actually. We've talked, and so I've complied with your request. We're done here. I hope you understand that I now consider this matter between us as closed. I'm going now."

And, just like that, Brennan was gone.

Booth stared at where she'd been sitting for several seconds, and then, regaining his ability to think and move, he shook his head in frustrated annoyance at her arrogant and imperious proclamations.

"Awww, hell, no," Booth muttered to himself as he reached into his wallet, pulled out several bills that more than covered their tab, and then sprinted out into the parking lot after her.

Booth caught up with Brennan just as she was unlocking her blue Corolla.

"Bren!"

As soon as she heard her name, Brennan turned around and saw Booth jogging in a steady pace across the parking lot. She allowed herself the luxury of closing her eyes once as she clenched her fists in frustration and shook her head as she muttered, "Of course. What was I thinking? Of course, he couldn't just let this be finished and done with, could he? Nothing's ever the easy way with him."

Coming up to her, Booth was slightly out of breath as he shot her a smile and said, "Oh, good. You haven't left yet."

"But, I am leaving now," Brennan said, grabbing the door hand and opening the driver's side door. "And, since our conversation is finished—"

"No," Booth shook his head as he forcefully slammed the driver's side door shut. "It's not—not by a long shot."

"What do you want from me, Booth?" Brennan suddenly growled. "I did what you asked. I complied with your request that we talk—even though you_ blackmailed _me into doing it—"

"Well, I wouldn't have had to do that if you would've been reasonable about things, Bren, instead of just being so bitchy about it," Booth insisted.

At his words, Brennan took a step closer to him and jabbed her finger in his chest. "You think you've seen how bitchy I can be, Booth? You haven't seen _anything _yet if you don't get out of my damn way and move so I can leave. Now. Right now!"

Booth glanced down at where her finger was still pointed at his chest, the simple point of physical contact between the two of them almost burning them. His eyes snapped up to meet Brennan's, and she flushed when realized that she was thinking the same thing he was in that minute—but for the day when she'd punched him the week before, this was the closest and most physical contact they'd had since the night and day they'd spent in his bed having sex. The thought was not lost on Booth as Brennan let her hand fall away, attempting to break the connection between them.

However, Booth was faster as he murmured, "No, I don't think so, Bren. Not this time—"

Leaning in against her, he pressed Brennan's back flush with her car door with his own strong body and left her little choice in the matter as Booth's lips eagerly sought out hers in a desperate kiss.

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	8. Ch 8: Bested by Curfew & a Consultation

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p>Ch 8: Bested by a Curfew &amp; a Consultation<p>

* * *

><p>Booth had been gone for several hours by the time that he finally returned to the dorms at Quantico. Of course, nosy roommate, concerned best friend, and overtly inquiring individual that he was, Sully was still awake. Propped up in his bed on the far side of the room, he had the television flipped on to a late night rerun of <em>Fraiser<em>. For some reason, the witty sitcom had always appealed to him. Fortunately, at 2:37 in the morning, it was a staple of the late night cable channels reruns so there was plenty of hours of him to watch, observe, and listen to the clever witticisms of one Dr. Fraiser Craine. Thus, since Sully hadn't gone to bed, he didn't make Booth's life any easier when he came slinking into the dorm, his hair looking quite mussed and his clothing very rumpled as he walked inside their shared room. Booth had to suppress a groan when he saw the lights and TV were still turned on signalling that Sully was still awake. His supposition was confirmed when he saw his friend firmly watching him enter the dorm and doing his best trying not to look guilty about having behavior inappropriately.

After a few seconds, when it became clear that Booth wasn't going to break the ice, Sully took he initiative and spoke. "You missed curfew," he said in a very feigned casual voice. He tossed another piece of pop corn into his mouth as he glanced at Booth from the bed. "Kenton was none too pleased, FYI. I had to tell him you had a family emergency with the baby."

Sighing as he shut and locked the door behind him, Booth nodded as he shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it on his desk chair. "Thanks."

"So, how'd the tutoring go?" Sully snickered, leaning up in bed a bit as he saw Booth immediately start to tense at his word.

Booth flushed at Sully's words. However, he shrugged it off as best he could as he said, "Fine. It went fine, Sul."

"You get what you needed?" Sully said, as he cocked an eyebrow at him in curiosity. "Because, if you did, I think I want your tutor's name and number."

"Why?" Booth asked, blinking at Sully in clear confusion. "You aren't doing badly in your forensics work. As a matter a fact, you're kicking ass, I seem to recall, because of all your stupid 'EMTs-are-more-than-paratroopers' spiel, remember?"

"I wouldn't call a solid 'B' average 'kicking ass', but I'm content with my performance in this particular unit," Sully replied.

"Then what in the hell do you need a tutor for?" Booth blinked at him.

"Because," Sully grinned mischievously. "If you've managed to find a tutor that knows forensics and is willing to give you some special one-on-one training that lasts until 2:30am after a Friday night, then I want her name and number."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Booth asked, "And, what happens if my tutor was a guy? You still want his name and number?"

Sully made a face at Booth's question. He then slowly shook his head as he gave his friend a knowing look. "First, be that way," Sully nodded. "But, just for the record, I do want it to be officially stated that I wouldn't be surprised if you do swung that way, Booth, given how much time you spend messing with your hair every morning. I mean, I know girls who spend less time getting ready than you do—"

"Just because all of us can't be a naturally cute as you are when you roll out of bed doesn't mean that I like guys, Sul," Booth said. "I'm not gay just because I use some hair products to style my hair. But, if this is _your_ way of coming out of the closet to me, that's cool man. I support your right to live free and proud."

"Leave in-conditioner, spray hair gel, and humidity-controlling hair spritz," Sully said as he ticked off each product on his fingers. "I'm going to repeat that last one, Booth, because I think it bears repeating…_humidity-controlling _hair spritz. That, my friend, is starting to go beyond the levels openly acknowledged by those of even the metrosexual persuasion. So, as I was saying, second—"

Walking over to wear Sully was still laying on his bed, Booth grabbed the half-eaten bowl of popcorn and promptly dumped it over his friend's head. The buttered popcorn scattered everywhere, and somewhat surprised as Booth's reaction to his tirade, Sully could only stare at his friend in response.

Sitting up in bed, covered in buttered popcorn as he was, the sight of Sully just staring back at Booth in wide-eyed surprise was suddenly quite funny to Booth—particularly after the night he'd had and the fact that it was 2:37 in the middle of the night. He couldn't help it as first a small smile cracked his straight face. The more Sully continued to blink at him in response, saying nothing and not changing his facial expression at all, the more Booth became amused. The smile quickly transitioned to a grin, and within a few seconds, the grin had segued into a deep belly-laugh. Booth began to laugh so hard that he bent over and was clutching his sides as tears started to roll down his eyes, and he struggled to breathe. After a few minutes, Sully thought his friend might be finished as Booth stood up and straightened his posture. His face was red, and streaked with tears of laughter, but when Booth merely took one look back at Sully—who hadn't moved at all from where he sat in the bed covered in popcorn—he started laughing all over again. Taking it in stride, because that was just the type of guy he was, Sully merely waited for Booth to finish laughing since he figured that his friend must need the release if he found the sight of Sully in a grey FBI t-shirt, pair of black sweats, and white socks sitting in his bed covered in popcorn to be _that_ funny.

After a few more minutes, Booth finally stood up and waved his hand at Sully. Gasping for air, he finally managed to mutter, "I'm sorry."

"Feel better?" Sully asked dryly.

Slowly nodding, Booth tried to maintain a straight face as he sucked down several quite necessary breaths of air. "Yeah, much."

"You done, now?" Sully inquired.

"I think so…" Booth nodded. "But, I'm not 100% certain."

"Okay," Sully nodded at him. "Let's get it out of your system now then."

Again, Booth tried desperately to stop from laughing. "I'm sorry," he muttered again as he blinked at the image of Sully sitting in bed draped in popcorn.

The fact that his best friend hadn't even moved to sweep any of the spilled popcorn away just made it even more funny to Booth. He blinked at Sully several more times, felt tears prick at his eyes, and then he snickered once more. Sully knew as soon as he heard the snicker that Booth was obviously going to let out another round of laughter, and their dorm room soon reverberated with the echo of his deep laugh.

Shaking his head as he looked over to where Booth was now nonsensically hunched over and clutching his sides with laughter, Sully said in a very resigned voice, "Man, I don't know what in the hell happened to you tonight, but it must've sure done a number on you because as much as I'd love to believe it was true, I'm just not _that _funny."

The only reply to Sully's observation was another bellow of Booth's laughter.

* * *

><p>Less than thirty-six hours after her rather heated exchange with Booth had changed her plans to return to the Jeffersonian to make up for time she was losing during the week in the lab when she was teaching, Brennan found herself surrounded by several individuals on the platform in the Medico-Legal lab. Dr. Daniel Goodman stood closest to Brennan with his hands clasped behind his back while three other people watched Brennan move around the remains on her examination slab with clear interest.<p>

"The victim is a male," Brennan began. "Of African-American descent, probably late thirties to early forties."

Special Agent Callie Warner exchanged looks with Special Agent Jamie Kenton. Kenton looked up at Brennan and said, clearly impressed, "I knew you were good, but wow—"

"I'm not just good, Agent Kenton," Brennan said as she tilted skeletonized skull of the victim's remains and leaned down to squint at something in the back of the head that had obviously gotten her attention. "I'm the best in the world." She paused and then looked up at him, "I would think that after the past few weeks, considering the fact that I've been teaching your FBI trainees some of the finer points about forensics for all that time, that you'd know that point by now."

"Sorry, Dr. Brennan," Kenton said with a small shrug. "It's one thing to see you in the classroom and to hear you talk about this stuff theoretically, but it's another thing altogether to see you do your thing with the bones like that. It's pretty impressive."

Sighing, Brennan straightened her posture and looked at Goodman. "From the looks that I've observed Agent Kenton exchange with Agent Warner, I can't help but feel that this was some type of test of my skills."

"And, why do you say that, Dr. Brennan?" Goodman asked.

"Because," Brennan replied. "I've seen him often exchange those looks with Agent Warner as a method of nonverbal communication in their dealings with the current trainee class that I'm teaching at Quantico. Now, my question is, why are you all wasting both my time and yours if you already know who this person was?"

Somewhat used to handling Brennan's abrupt personality, Goodman did his best to smooth things over as he said, "That would be because I asked Agent Warner to bring the remains to the Jeffersonian, Dr. Brennan."

"Why?" she asked blankly.

"Well, that would be because of me, Dr. Brennan," the fourth and final observer finally said. Quieter than the other three individuals, Brennan felt the least comfortable around the tall Englishman—and not just because he had the power to make Goodman look talkative.

"You may recall that my first encounter with Agent Warner and Agent Kenton—the one that facilitated the series of events that culminated with your temporary appointment to the FBI Academy, by the way—was because of my acquaintance with Dr. Wyatt here. You see, when I encountered him at a conference on ritual violence, we determined that some of our professional and social circles actually overlapped. As such, we felt that we might be able to benefit mutually one another."

Tilting his head at Goodman, Wyatt smiled slightly as he said, "Yes, that was quite the fortuitous conference to attend, Dr. Goodman. I'm actually glad I didn't brush that one off as I'd initially planned because they're usually so bloody tedious."

"In the grand scheme of things," Goodman began. "It actually was quite a good conference. There were several useful cocktail hours where I managed to make several valuable connections, yourself included, Dr. Wyatt—"

"Thank you," Wyatt said with a genial nod of his head. "The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you."

"And," Goodman continued. "I found the workshops and panels to be very well designed for the purpose of satisfying the conference's diverse theme."

"Yes," Wyatt agreed with a jovial smile. "Aside from the fortuitous nature of our meeting, Dr. Goodman, some of the workshops were devilishly fun. We managed to spend three days discussing why homicidal killers, both in the pre-Colombian and modern eras, preferred gutting their victims from stem-to-sternum versus sternum-to-stem and the symbolism of their choice to use either a blunt knife or a razor sharp cutting implement to do the deed."

"It was quite fascinating," Goodman chimed in once Wyatt had stopped speaking. "There was one particularly insightful paper that presupposed that—"

"Gentlemen," Brennan said, suddenly feeling her frustration spike again. _I don't want to be here with people doing this right now_, Brennan thought to herself. _All I want to do is be left alone with some skeletal remains to be left in peace for a few hours so I can actually think after everything that's just happened to me. Is that really too much to ask? _"I apologize in advance, but I put before you my original question one more time—"

Brennan's voice trailed off as Wyatt stared at her intently.

"The man before you was named James Alexander, 36, of Brooklyn New York," Wyatt began. Brennan allowed some of her confrontational standoffishness to lessen as she believed Wyatt was finally answering her question. "His remains were found in a New York City landfill approximately sixteen months ago. The New York City corner placed his time of death between eighteen and twenty-four months ago."

"Cause of death?" Brennan asked.

"Inconclusive," Wyatt said. "But for the strange kerf marks that I see you've already noted in the vicinity of his occipital bone."

Arching an eyebrow, Brennan said, "You noticed that I saw that?"

Wyatt shrugged his shoulders slightly as he said, "I'm a people watcher, Dr. Brennan. It's in my nature. As such, there's not much I do miss when I choose to pay attention to things."

"Although I fail to believe that the field of psychology has many scientific merits, that aside, I find that I'm slightly impressed by your deductive and inductive reasoning and observation skills, Dr. Gordon," Brennan finally said after she had looked eye contact with the psychologist for several seconds.

"That's very kind of you to say, Dr. Brennan," Wyatt said with a tilt of his head. "Particularly given your less than positive opinion of my profession, and your own exacting standards of measurement, I believe I'm quite pleased to receive a compliment such as the one you just gave me, so thank you."

Brennan gave a curt nod of acknowledgement at him and then said, "So, the New York City corner doesn't have a cause of death? Is that why you brought him here to me?"

Wyatt nodded. "Partially. The case has been ruled a suspicious death given the fact that the body was found in a landfill."

"And jurisdiction was assumed by the FBI when New York and New Jersey started getting into a potential pissing match because the body was found in the vicinity of the state line," Kenton added.

"We need your help," Wyatt said. "I'm well aware that you're quite busy with the numerous demands on your busy schedule, Dr. Brennan. But, after speaking with Dr. Goodman and Agent Warner, I believe you can be an invaluable asset to the FBI's investigation."

Glancing down at the body, Brennan sighed and then looked up at Goodman. "I'm going to need extra personnel to help on this case if I'm going to maintain my current work load at Quantico. I'll need to redivert Dr. Hodgins for particulate analysis as well acquire as extra manpower in the lab."

"Done," Goodman said. "Whatever you need."

"You can begin by completing the appointment paperwork of my intern," Brennan said. "I've already selected an applicant from among the graduate students at American, but I need the funding and administrative paperwork taken care of—once he's in place, I'll feel confident that the work I leave to be completed in my absence here at the lab will proceed in a timely and appropriate manner. Then, I can complete what I need to do to satisfy my obligations to the remaining weeks of the teaching appointment at the FBI Academy while also consulting on this case."

"Whatever you need from us," Warner said. "Just let Jamie know. We'll make it work."

"So, this case is a priority then?" Brennan asked Warner.

"Yes," Warner nodded.

"Fine," Brennan said. She glanced at the remains and a thoughtful look came over her face as she said, "In a way, this might be a good thing for the purposes of my teaching responsibilities."

"And, why's that, Dr. Brennan?" Kenton asked.

"It might be a unique opportunity to give some of the trainees some real-world experience in an actual forensic investigation," Brennan mused. She looked at Warner as she asked, "I'd have to think about logistics, but do you have any objections to the idea in principle?"

"No," Warner said with a quick shake of her head. "As I said, whatever you need."

"Good," Brennan said. "Give me a few hours, and I'll email you when I have a final plan in place."

Looking from Goodman to Gordon, she nodded curtly as she said, "Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."

As she snapped off her gloves her hands, tossed them in the waste basket, and walked in the direction of her office, Dr. Gordon Wyatt watched with a smile on his face as he then turned to Warner and said, "What an interesting creature."

"Oh?" Warner said with a smile.

Nodding in the direction in which she'd disappeared, Wyatt nodded again, "I think our serial killer, Callie, dear, may have no idea what's hit him if Dr. Brennan is even half as brilliant as she appears."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	9. Ch 9: Bested by a Forensic Exam

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing... Obviously. Just playing in someone else's sandbox for a bit.

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p>Ch 9: Bested by a Forensic Exam<p>

* * *

><p>Dr. Temperance Brennan stared at the exam that she was holding in her hands, having read it for the third time and knowing that reading it for a fourth time would lead to no different epiphanies or outcomes. Shaking her head as she checked her math once more—even though she knew it was flawless—she knew she had squeezed every possible point out of the exam that was possible… and still, the final score only totaled a 56. Setting the exam booklet down on her desk in her office in the Jeffersonian, Brennan glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost 3:30 in the morning. Shaking her head, she began to rub the back of her neck and attempted to stretch it to ease the kink that had developed from her having hunched over her desk in one position for so long.<p>

Staring at the name on the front cover of the exam, Brennan shook her head as she said quietly, "This is all your fault, you know."

For a moment, she shut her eyes and as she gently brushed her hair off the side of her neck, she began to rub it in a slow up and down motion, almost imagining that it was the feel of another pair of hands on her skin. She sighed softly, knowing that she was indulging in a useless moment of whimsy. For a split second, as she glanced back at the clock, Brennan contemplated grabbing the exam booklet, getting in her car, and driving to his apartment regardless of the fact that it was the middle of the night. But, after a few seconds when she actually contemplated the move, she felt reason slowly creep back in as she knew there'd be no point to driving to his apartment—not because he wouldn't let her in if she knocked, but because she knew he wouldn't be there since he was still in the dorms at Quantico.

Sighing, Brennan let her hands fall away from her neck and fall to rest on the top of her desk. Her fingers danced over the top of the exam booklet as she contemplated what to do next. It had been two weeks since what had turned out to be a fairly eventful weekend…it beginning with her confrontation of Booth at the Bungalow Alehouse and it ending with her introduction to the homicide investigation of one James Alexander of Brooklyn, New York. She hadn't had much free time to allow her mind to wander in regard to Booth. She'd wracked up quite a number of miles in the commute between the lab at the Jeffersonian and her classroom at Quantico, so much so that she'd taken to sleeping in her office in order to give herself more time so that neither her teaching nor her contribution to the investigation was slighted. True, the arrival of her new graduate assistant, one Zachary Addy, had some promise to perhaps ease the demands she was placing on herself. But, since he had only arrived at the Jeffersonian three days before, it was still too early to tell if he'd prove as helpful as Brennan hoped he might.

Still drumming her fingers on the test, she shook her head. "What's going on with you, Booth?"

As she stared at the 56/F that was scrawled in red ink on the front of the exam booklet in her own handwriting, she shook her head. "Despite my earlier pronouncements that were made in anger, you aren't _this _much of an idiot. So, what's going on here?" she said to herself.

Grabbing her pen, she bit her lip only for a few seconds before she opened the exam booklet and scrawled a note on the final page. Letting her eyes flicker over what she'd written a couple of times, she nodded as she quickly signed her initials at the bottom of the note. Deciding that it was the best she could do to rectify the situation, after she'd reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen, and quickly downed two tablets with a large swig from the bottle of water that sat on her desk, she stood up and arched her back once more. Allowing her back to contort slightly like a cat arching its muscles, Brennan let out a yawn and rubbed her eyes before she clicked off the lamp on her desk. Then, checking to make certain that the alarm on her cell phone was set for 6:30am, she trudged over to the couch and plopped down. Pulling the light blue blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch over her weary form, Brennan then only had to adjust the pillow near her head once before she closed her eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>The next evening, at 5:00 on the dot, one of the Jeffersonian security guards knocked on the door frame of the entrance to Brennan's office.<p>

"Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes?" she responded, looking up from where she was working at her desk.

"You have a visitor?" he nodded at her. "A gentleman is here to see you. He says he has an appointment."

Nodding, Brennan gestured with her hand as she said, "He's expected. Show him in please."

A moment later, Booth's familiar visage popped into Brennan's office.

Looking up again from her desk, she waved him over as she said, "Good. You're on time."

Dressed as he was in a casual t-shirt and pair of jeans, over which he wore his black leather jacket, in that moment, Booth presented somewhat of an anachronistic image when he gestured with the test booklet in his hand. "Your note said you wanted to see me."

"It did," Brennan nodded. "And, I do. Come in, please."

Indicating that he should sit down in one of the chairs in front of her desk, she said, "I apologize that I had to request that we meet here instead of arranging an appointment at the Academy, but my time hasn't been my own lately."

"Oh," Booth said. "So, this is just because you—?"

"Wanted to talk to you about your performance on the latest exam, Trainee Booth," Brennan nodded. "I believe my note was fairly clear in that respect?"

Lifting it up and waving it at her, Booth replied, "Yeah. Crystal. I just thought—"

"If I may interrupt you," Brennan said. Booth stared at her open mouthed and then nodded. "Thank you," she nodded. "Now, as I was saying, my time is increasingly short these days. But, I know I wouldn't be doing my job as your instructor if I didn't inquire as to what the potential causes are that are contributing to the difficulties you're having in my course." She tilted her head at him as she said, "Your progress in the course has steadily declined, Trainee Booth. You were averaging solid A/B grades in the beginning portion of the seminar, but as we've progressed, your latest scores have lowered your overall module grade to barely a D. So, I asked you here—I believe, as the saying goes…what gives?"

Moving his hand as he rubbed his jaw slightly, Booth took a breath and looked away. He then slowly exhaled as he said, "If you're asking me if I can explain why my grades have been going down the tubes, the answer is no. I don't really have a good answer for that one."

"Well," Brennan said. "This should be a fairly simple problem to solve. Now, I know that you're a relatively intelligent individual who's capable of mastering this material."

Booth looked up at when he processed her words. Tilting his head at her, he asked, "Wait a sec. Did you just compliment me?"

"Don't let it stroke that ego of yours too much," she said as she narrowed her eyes at him.

Shrugging slightly, Booth bit back a smile as he said, "Oh, don't worry. I won't. It's just I'm kinda not used to you not calling me an idiot."

Rolling her eyes at him, Brennan said, her voice becoming a bit softer, "Booth?"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan?" he said as he leveled his gaze at her.

"We agreed," she said. "Remember? Two weeks ago, we agreed. For the duration of my time at Quantico, in my capacity as your instructor, everything….everything else can't exist."

"I remember that _you _thought that was the best way to handle things," Booth said. "I didn't agree."

"Well, that may have been because you were too busy trying to stick your tongue down my throat," Brennan retorted.

"And, you didn't seem to mind too much, as I recall," Booth said. "Then, two weeks go by and nothing—"

"That's because I'm still pissed off at you!" Brennan snapped, a bit of her annoyance coming through to crack the calm façade of her voice. "I was arrested because of you, Booth."

"You know what?" Booth said, leaning forward in his chair a bit. "I still don't see how I can be blamed for that one if you won't even tell me what you think I did or didn't do that seemingly got you arrested."

Sighing, Brennan shook her head as she said, "I didn't ask you to come here today to discuss anything beyond the purview of the difficulties that you've been having in my seminar, Booth. Now, I'd appreciate if we could return to the reason I asked to speak with you in the first place."

Raising his hands in supplication, Booth said, "Fine."

"Good," Brennan nodded. "Now, as I was saying—I know you possess the requisite intelligence to be able to master this material. So, logically, the next thing to look at is how you've been applying yourself. I know that when you're in class that you haven't missed any meetings and you're always paying attention and taking notes—are you completing the readings?"

"Yes!" Booth instantly responded. "Of course. I'm working my ass off—"

"Then, I don't understand," Brennan nodded at him. "What's the disconnect?" Nodding at the course booklet, Brennan said, "I read your exam three times, Booth. And, I did that not because I found your answers particularly inspirational—"

"Gee, thanks," Booth muttered.

"You've always been able to articulate yourself fairly well," Brennan said. "So, I just don't understand. What about this latest material is so challenging to you?"

Setting his booklet on the edge of her desk, Booth sighed as he said, "Don't you think if I knew that that I would be setting here with a big ole F-is-for-Failure staring back at me in that damn annoying red ink that you bled all over my test?" He paused for a moment and then said, "I'm trying. I swear to God, I'm trying, but sometimes this Bill-Nye-the-Science-Guy crap doesn't make any sense to me."

Brennan considered his words for a moment and then said, "Explain."

Looking over at her, Booth nodded. "Okay. Well, take the subject of this test. It was the week we covered how to process a crime scene where biological fluids are present."

"Yes," Brennan nodded as she arched her eye. "I'm well aware of what the subject of the exam was since I wrote it, Booth."

"Well, some of your questions in here…they just don't make any sense," Booth said as he shook his head. "It's not logical. When I was writing out my answer about the procedure to make certain evidence wasn't being tainted—"

"You concentrated too much on the extra individuals that were still present at the crime scene in the hypothetical scenario that you were asked to write about," Brennan interrupted him.

"But, they might've been potential witnesses," Booth countered. "That's why I—"

"For the purposes of this exercise, you were supposed to ignore the potential witnesses in favor of making certain that the saliva, vaginal secretions, and semen stains found in the car weren't contaminated," Brennan cut him off again. "The two women that may or may not have been in the vicinity of the car when the male was killed are not as important as making certain that the fluids weren't compromised."

"But, the stains weren't going anywhere," Booth said. "I'm mean, come on—they're fluids. What could happen to them from where they were on the car seat and the vic's clothing? I still think it was more important to lock down the POIs that were in the vicinity of the car at the time it was discovered."

"But, that's just it, Booth," Brennan said. "For the purposes of this scenario, you weren't supposed to concentrate on the human factor. You were supposed to prioritize the potential source of scientific data more than the information that you might or might not have obtained from interviewing two people that most likely had nothing at all to do with the homicide."

"Hey," Booth said as he gestured at her. "I was going with my gut on this one, and my gut said the two prostitutes saw something."

Narrowing her eyes, Brennan shook her head as she said, "A.) Whatever your metaphorical 'gut' told you in such a situation was irrelevant. You were supposed to privilege science for the purposes of the scenario. B.) You have no idea the two women were prostitutes—"

"Oh, no," Booth said, wagging his finger at her. "The scenario purposely said that the two women were between the ages of 18 and 25, scantily dressed in tight and revealing clothing, including lacy bras and that they carried a large amount of cash with them. Now, look—even I can read between the lines on that one. The two girls were out pounding the sidewalks—"

"No," Brennan said. "No, no, no. You can't simply infer that—that's exactly the thing you _weren't _supposed to do."

"Oh, really?" Booth said. "You just want me to ignore what could be crucial details like that because you're telling me that they were what…red herrings?"

"Precisely," Brennan replied. "Did you ever think that perhaps I wrote that scenario knowing that some of the male trainees in the class, particularly your bestest friend Robin, might get distracted by that narrative description, concentrate on the two women, and not recognize the fact that the chain of evidence could be contaminated by not securing the crime scene and taking multiple samples of the saliva, semen, and vaginal—" Booth winced at Brennan spoke. Seeing his response, she tilted her head as she stopped mid-sentence and said, "What?"

"It's just…do you have to do that?" Booth asked.

"Do what?"

"That thing that you do…always do, actually," Booth said. "Do you have to be so specific and keep repeating the who 'saliva, semen, and vaginal' trifecta there? Can't you just say 'body fluids' and be done with it? I mean, I think the whole 'fluids' thing is kinda gross enough as is—"

"I don't believe this," Brennan said with a touch of exasperation coming into her voice. "It makes no logical sense that a man who had to change his linens twice because of the fact that your semen ran down my leg and stained the bed sheets on two separate occasions when we had sex that night—"

"Whoa!" Booth said, his face turning a bright red. His face contorting a bit as he said, "Cut it out."

"What?" Brennan said, her eyes wide in surprise. "What now?"

"You were the one who said we weren't going to talk about, well, ya know—any of that other _stuff_, so if I can't talk about it, that means you can't bring it up either," Booth said.

"My point," Brennan said, "Is that I fail to see how you can be so uptight about the verbalization of such things in a clinical sense when you clearly had no issue when it was actually your semen or my vaginal secretions that were the issue then…or both of our saliva, now that I come to think about it, since we both used our mouths—"

"Bren!" Booth said, turning an even brighter red. "Seriously!"

"Oh, fine," Brennan sighed. "My point is—"

"Wait a sec," Booth said. "What do you mean, 'Robin'?"

"That's what your friend, Mr. Sullivan is called, is it not?" Brennan asked. "They call you…Batman, and he's Robin?"

"Who told you that?" Booth asked.

"Does it matter?" Brennan replied. "The point is, as the author of that hypothetical situation, I can verify that my intent when I crafted that narrative, I included the provocative description of the two women to distract hypersexualized male trainees in the scenario." She paused and then met his intense gaze with her blue eyes as she said, "However, frankly, when I wrote that particular nuance into the narrative, I never expected that _you'd_ be one of the ones to fall for it."

"I didn't fall for anything," Booth sighed. Exhaling slowly, Booth leaned forward in his chair as he said, "Look…you want to know what's going on? Here it is—all this science crap…the blood spatters and fluid preservation and collection…it's all stuff I was never really good with in school. Now, reading people and interviewing witnesses? Fine. That's people stuff. I've always been good at that since I can use my gut, and I've always been pretty well served by it—even the ballistics stuff is pretty easy since it's really not all that different from some of the stuff I learned when I was in the Army, but collecting metallic particulates for a chemical microanalysis? That stuff just isn't computing with me, no matter how hard I try. And, the further we work towards the end of the module, the more science geeky stuff we've been doing, and it's just not jiving in my brain."

"We have one more exam next week," Brennan said slowly. "Unless you get an A on it, you're average won't be high enough to pass the module, Booth."

Running his fingers through his hair, Booth looked up at her and said, "What do I do?"

"You need help," Brennan said. "If I didn't know anything else about you, it'd be clear that part of the reason that you aren't doing well with the more scientific aspects of this module because you don't respect science."

Booth opened his mouth to protest and then quickly shut it.

Nodding at him, Brennan repeated, "You need help or else you're going to fail."

"Okay," Booth said. "Fine. I need help. I can admit that. But, do you have any suggestions where I go to get that help?"

Taking a piece of paper from on top of her desk, she scrawled an address on it. "You need a tutor. Be at that address on Tuesday evening at 8:00 o'clock. Bring your books and don't be late. She'll be expecting you."

"And who is it that would be willing to tutor me just because you sent me?" Booth asked.

"The best," Brennan said with a firm nod as she looked at him. "Only the very best."

* * *

><p>-TBC-<p> 


	10. Ch 10: Bested by a Forensics Tutor, Pt 1

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer:::stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p><span>Ch 10: Bested by a Forensics Tutor, Part I<span>

* * *

><p>At exactly 8:00 o'clock on Tuesday evening, after having double and triple checked the address that Brennan had hurriedly written down for Booth, as he tried not to juggle his books and notebooks when he did so, Booth gave a sharp rap on the apartment door in front of which he stood. Booth was curious as to whom exactly Brennan would trust to serve as a tutor to one of her students. He especially wondered what type of person he'd be working with given the more than slight ego Booth had come to be quite familiar with over the past few months.<p>

Initially, Booth had thought that it might've been the graduate student intern that he'd heard Kenton talking to Warner about one morning before their lesson, at one of the gun ranges in Hogan's Alley, began at the Academy. Apparently, in addition to the seminar she was teaching his Academy's cohort, Brennan had also been roped into some type of fairly important homicide investigation by the sounds of it. She'd taken on an intern, it seemed, to lessen some of the toll that so many demands on her time had taken on her person.

For a few seconds, Booth thought back to the meeting that he'd had with Brennan in her office at the Jeffersonian. Although he'd seen her in class several times since that day, it was really the first time in a while that he'd had a chance to see her up close and personal—and, now that he thought about it, he _had _noticed some darker circles under her eyes that would only be normal if a person was only getting no more than four or five hours of sleep at night. _I knew she was being too nice_, Booth thought to himself. _She wasn't nearly as bitchy as she normally is around me. Stupid, Booth—real stupid. And here I was thinking that she was going easy on busting my balls because she felt sorry for me because I'm coming close to flunking out of her class_, he thought to himself as he waited for the tutor to open the door. _Pretty dumb thought there, Booth_—a chastising voice echoed in his head. _It had nothing to do with you—she was just tired._

As he thought about how tired Brennan had looked that day, and how subdued she'd been, he then began to wonder what type of person she'd actually send him to _and _describe as 'only the very best'. After his second knock on the door, Booth heard a shuffling in the apartment and knew that someone was approaching. Attempting to be as patient as possible, his curiosity again spiked as he thought about whom Brennan would've sent him to get tutoring from—particularly when he recalled how impressed he'd been by the apartment building in Georgetown that he'd driven up to when the GPS guided him to using the directions he'd given it. The building was a bit too swank for any old American grad student, and since Brennan had specifically said 'she'll be expecting you', Booth knew it wasn't her new intern at the Jeffersonian.

Thus, when the door finally opened, his eyes narrowed as he shook his head when he gazed at the very familiar pair of blue eyes that greeted him. "I should've known," Booth said, his lips pursing as he nodded at her. "I should've known that when you said that my tutor was only the best there was that it could only mean one person."

"Well," Brennan said, placing a hand on her hip as she stood in front of Booth. "I _am _the very best that there is—or, are you contesting that assessment of my skills for any reason in particular?"

"No," Booth said with a shake of his head. "I just—why didn't you just tell me that you were offering to tutor me yourself when you wrote the address down when we were in your office?"

Shrugging her shoulders slightly, Brennan said, "Well, to be honest—I wasn't sure if you'd come if you knew it was me who was the one who was making the offer."

"And, why would you think that?" he asked.

"Because," Brennan said. "It's become quite clear that whenever we're within close proximity to one another that we have quite an...incendiary effect on one another…and it's my opinion that you really need my assistance to improve your performance for the final forensic exam. But, I was afraid you wouldn't come to me to get that help you so obviously need if you knew I was the one that was making the offer."

Booth stared at her for a moment and then said, "I'm not sure how to respond to that one, there, Bren."

"Honestly?" she asked with a nod at him. "If you'd known it was me who was making the offer to help you—would you have come here tonight?"

Booth's instinct was to rub the bridge of his nose or run his fingers over the back of his head in slight frustration at her question. However, with his arms full of his books, he could only shrug his shoulders slightly as he said, "I dunno, Bren—I…I probably wouldn't have come here knowing that it was your place, no."

"See?" Brennan said with a wave of her hand "Then, it was a good thing that I didn't tell you, isn't it?"

"It's true—"Booth responded to her. "That I probably wouldn't have come if I'd known it was you who was making the offer to help me, but not for the reasons that you probably think."

Brennan considered his words and then nodded. "Point taken. But, since you're here now—will you come in and let me help you?"

"Well," Booth said, as he shifted some of his books again. "Since I did lug these damn things all the way up here—"

"You'll stay?" she asked, opening the door a bit wider.

"Yeah," he nodded as he took a step forward with a slight sigh in his voice. "I'll stay."

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, Booth sighed and pushed his chair back from where he sat in front of Brennan's dining room table.<p>

"Okay," he sighed. "I think that's enough for now."

"But," Brennan began, tapping her pencil over a portion of a diagram that Booth had drawn on a piece of lined paper. "We're just getting to the part—"

"Nope," Booth said with a firm shake of his head. "No way, Bren. We're stopping—"

"But, you've only been here two hours," Brennan protested again, a frown coming onto her face. "We still have a lot to get through."

"Fine," he nodded at her. "We can do that."

"Good," Brennan said, a small smile coming onto her face. "Then, as I was saying about the way that this scenario postulates the disarticulation of the victim's mandibular joint—"

"Wait a sec," Booth said as he shook his head. "Wait a minute, Bren."

"What?" she asked, looking up at him. "I thought you said you were becoming more comfortable with the issue of which points that need to be taken into consideration from the osteological perspective after we diagrammed—"

Waving his hand, Booth said, "Bren, will you stop talking about all that science crap for just two seconds please?"

"But—"

"I'm hungry," Booth said with a firm shake of his head, raising his voice slightly so that it drowned out hers.

"Fine," Brennan said with a wave in the vague direction of her kitchen. "Then, go get a snack from the fridge, and you can keep listening to me while you get something to eat."

"You've got food?" Booth asked, his interest and curiosity clearly piqued by her offer.

Rolling her eyes at him, Brennan nodded. "Considering the fact that as a human being, my metabolism does require a certain caloric intake each day, and I own a room full of appliances in order to facilitate that goal, yes, Booth, logically, I do possess food here."

"Well, hell, Bren," Booth said as he pushed himself up out of his seat. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Pointing to the kitchen, Brennan told him, "Help yourself to whatever seems appetizing to you."

"Excellent," Booth responded, as he walked into the kitchen.

Brennan looked over in the general direction of the kitchen when she heard Booth rummaging around in the refrigerator. She couldn't help but bite back a smile as she heard a frustrated groan that was followed by some more shuffling. Brennan thought she heard Booth's muffled voice mutter a few things that she couldn't quite make out. However, when he never called out to her, she attributed the mutterings to his general displeasure at the obvious lack of what she knew he probably considered to be appropriate late-night comfort food. Tapping the pencil that she was still holding against her dining room table once more, she shook her head and shuffled through a few papers as she waited for Booth to return.

And, return he did a couple of minutes later.

However, when he did so, it wasn't carrying any edible snacks, per se, as she'd been expecting. Pointing at what Booth carried in his hands, she clucked her tongue as she said, "Now, _that _is not the type of snack that I'd thought you wanted."

As Booth set down a bottle of red wine, a corkscrew, and two glasses, he shrugged as he replied, "You did say I could help myself to whatever seemed appetizing…and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, Bren, but rabbit food isn't my idea of tasty yum yums, so this seemed like the best choice while we wait for the pizza to get here."

"You ordered a pizza?" Brennan asked, a bit of disbelief in her voice as she arched her eyebrow at him. "So, you weren't just muttering in there about how I provision my refrigerator?"

Nodding, Booth said, "No, I wasn't just complaining, and of course I ordered a pizza. That tofu crap may work for you, but like I told you, I'm hungry. And, if you want me to keep working, that means I need _real _food."

"Tofu is 'real' food," Brennan said as she leveled her gaze at him.

"You can keep telling yourself that all you want," Booth said as he took the bottle and used his fingers to twist at the aluminum wrapping that covered the cork. "I still say it sucks, and I still say I will take my pizza-cheesy goodness over that wall paper paste any day of the week."

"You got a cheese pizza?" Brennan asked, as she narrowed her eyes at his words.

Giving her a slight smirk, Booth finished twisting off the outer wrapping of the wine bottle's label and reached for the cork screw. "Maybe," he said. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing," Brennan said as she watched Booth uncork the bottle of wine. "Nothing at all."

"So," Booth said as he poured a healthy dollop of the pungent smelling Merlot into one of the glasses. "Does that mean that you don't want any if I were to, ya know, feel generous and want to share with you?"

"I don't know," Brennan said as she nodded at him. "That depends. Am I going to keep feeling generous and keep sharing my Merlot with you?"

Swirling the Merlot in the glass, Booth took a deep breath before he sighed in appreciation and extended the glass to her. "You did say I could have whatever I wanted."

"Yeah," Brennan said as she reached out and took the glass. "That's when I thought you might take a Granny Smith Apple or a container of yogurt."

"Come on, now," Booth said. "We both know that we'll start to make some real headway here if we're fed and watered."

"I didn't invite you over here to proverbially wine and dine you, Booth," Brennan said. "We're supposed to be working—"

"And, we are," Booth said as he reached for the second wine goblet. "I promise you, I'll keep working until the pizza comes, and then we can work through dinner if you want."

"And, how do I know you won't get distracted by the consumption of these adult libations?" Brennan asked him as she arched an eyebrow at him again in a move that was bordering on becoming habitual.

"Because," Booth said. "I know you don't know this about me, but I've actually got a pretty good head when it comes to the hard stuff. Sharing a single bottle of wine with you is hardly going to do me in."

As Brennan reached out and extended her glass to his in an impromptu toast, she nodded and said, "Well, now—we'll just see about that, won't we?"

* * *

><p>Two hours later, the remnants of a pizza box lay scattered over the top of Brennan's dining room table. Stacks of paper and Booth's books were interspersed with the used plates, the casualties of three red wine bottles, and a well-used corkscrew. Over the course of the time since they'd eaten—and kept drinking wine—Brennan hadn't protested when Booth suggested that they take refuge on her couch when she complained her back was beginning to hurt from having been hunched over it for hours.<p>

"It's not just the damn dining room table," Brennan said, arching her back against her couch. "It's all the time I've been spending in the lab, too."

"That case you mentioned in class?" Booth asked as he drained what was left of his goblet and set it on the coffee table. "What…have you been bent over the examination slab in the lab because of it or something?"

"No," Brennan said with a shake of her head. Then, stopping herself, she said, "Wait, that's not quite true. I mean, yes, I have been working a lot on that case. But, no, the muscle strain I feel because of the inflammation in my lower lumbar muscle group doesn't have anything to do with that fact."

"Then, what is it?" Booth asked, as he leaned back into his end of the couch. Although the pair were seated at opposite ends of the couch, Brennan was sitting perpendicular to where he sat, her legs stretched out so that the tips of her bare feet almost, but not quite, touched his thigh.

"Well," Brennan said as she took another sip of wine. "Between the seminar at the Academy, and the new serial killer investigation at the Jeffersonian, I really haven't had a lot of time to waste on things like sleeping in my own bed." She stopped and tilted her head at him as she said, "As a matter a fact, this is the first time in two weeks that I've been home at this time of night, and might actually stand a chance of sleeping in my own bed tonight, instead of utilizing the couch in my office at the lab to rest for a few hours required so I don't develop a case of exhaustion."

"That's not good, Bren," Booth said, his hand suddenly itching to reach over and begin to caress her foot. However, he stilled the impulse at he looked at her, his eyes awash with concern. "That's not good at all."

"You're probably right from the perspective of maintaing my own regular sleeping patterns," Brennan agreed with a slight shrug. "But, it couldn't be helped, Booth. There's only so much time in the day."

"And, you push yourself too hard," he said quietly. He stopped and then took a breath before he asked, "Bren?"

"Hmmm?" she asked in an extremely mellow voice.

"If you've been so busy lately," Booth asked, carefully testing each word on his tongue before he spoke it. "Why did you make the offer to take the time out of your schedule to help me? I mean, from what it sounds like, if I weren't here, you'd just be working at the Jeffersonian tonight, right?"

"Yes," Brennan said with a small nod. However, her face still seemed relaxed, and Booth began to wonder how much the wine and the lack of downtime and proper rest had actually started to take it's toll on Brennan. She seemed more sedate and unguarded than he'd seen her…well, since he'd seen her except for right after they'd had sex.

Worry shining in his eyes, Booth said, "Nothing good can come of burning the wick at both ends, Bren. You need to…well, you need to be careful."

"I am," Brennan said with a wistful sigh. "I'm always careful." She stopped and said, "Too careful, probably...except with you." Waiting until she met his gaze, she nodded and said, "You do know that, right? You..you're different. You're the exception and have been from the very first night. I just can't help myself with you." She paused again, and then said with another quiet sigh, "You wanted to know why I offered to help you with your course work given that I barely have time to sleep let alone do anything else? Well, it's because I had to, Booth. I don't want you to fail in this course. You're a good person when you aren't letting yourself get distracted. And, I think you'll make a very good FBI agent one day…if you don't let the science in your coursework defeat your goals."

As Booth looked over at her, noticing how her eyes were slightly glazed over, he couldn't help himself as he smiled and said, "Thank you."

"For what?" Brennan said. "For the compliment or for extending my assistance to you?"

"Both," Booth replied. "And…for the wine."

"Well," Brennan said. "You did pay for the pizza, so in a way, it could be considered a dutch date since, in effect, I provided the libations even if you paid for the food."

Quirking an eyebrow at her, Booth said, "Is that what this was, Bren—a date?"

Leaning forward, Brennan set her wine glass down and said, "Before I answer that question, why don't you tell me…do you want it to be?"

"I thought," Booth said, his throat suddenly going very dry. "I thought you said that…well, all of that stuff didn't exist between us right now. Not until the course was done, remember?"

Looking away, Brennan exhaled slowly and then shook her head. "That was the case several hours ago, and may be again in several more hours, but for right now—well, maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the fact that this is the first time I've been near you in what seems like forever, metaphorically speaking…but, like I said, I just can't help myself with you, Booth. So…the question is—for now, do you want that stuff that existed between us to be there or not?"

"Well," Booth said as he turned to face her. "That depends."

"On?"

"If it exists, am I gonna get slugged again?" he asked.

Brennan's brow furrowed as she scooted a bit closer to him so that the tips of her feet came to rest lightly on his jean-covered thigh. "Either slugged or kissed…I'm not really sure which one at the moment."

"And, is this anything I can do to register my vote for that second option?" Booth said as his warm hand came over an lightly rested on one of her feet.

A quick sigh escaped from her mouth as Brennan allowed her head to roll back slightly, her eyes closed as she smiled at his touch of her. "Keep touching me," she breathed. "And, that might be a good place to start if you really want to find out for sure, one way or the other."

A somewhat cocky grin cracked Booth's face as he used his hand to lightly tickle her feet once more and said, "I think I can do that if you want me to."

"Promise?" she asked, as her eyes stared at him in expectation.

"Yeah," he said with a firm nod. "I promise."

* * *

><p><span>-TBC-<span>

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note-<span> In case anyone is wondering, the next chapter won't be skipping ahead. There are still some things left to be seen and heard (hence the specificity of the title chapter). So, ready for some answers to what's really going on with this pair? Then, let me know that you're out there and still with me. Lurkers...I know you're there...it's a new year, so don't be afraid to come out of the shadows, click that bright and shiny 'review' button, and let me know what you think as the fulfillment of one of your resolutions. Questions and feedback of all things is how stories like these get better...so yeah. Help me do my job by doing yours, and even if it's a shout out, that's okay, too. And, to my steadfast reviewers, I know I don't say this enough...but you all rock. So, thanks for reviewing. And, to everyone else...I hope you're enjoying things, because this storyline is really just getting started. Happy reading!~


	11. Ch 11: Bested by a Forensics Tutor, Pt 2

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: ::stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p><span>Ch 11: Bested by a Forensics Tutor, Part II<span>

* * *

><p>If anyone had been surveying the status of Brennan's apartment, they would've noted that she apparently spent the longer part of the past evening working late, as attested to by the empty pizza box and stacks of books, folders, and loose papers that lay scattered over her dining room table. However, if they continued to look, beginning at the edge of her couch and leading in a trail towards the back part of the apartment, they would've found a very interesting trail of further evidence. The tell-tale signs of her evening having been something that was comprised of more than just studious activities began with a black Philadelphia Fliers t-shirt whose logo was stained with a large splotch of red wine. Next, a light blue cotton boat neck cap sleeve female t-shirt was bunched on the floor. In fairly quick order, a white left athletic crew sock was followed by its right-sided mate, and a pair of faded dark blue men's jeans with a gilded Army belt buckle still attached to the belt in the jeans' loops painted a further picture of what had occurred. As the trail of clothing continued in a line towards what was Brennan's bedroom, a nude-colored demi-cup underwire bra was followed by a simple pair of black yoga pants, a pair of black and white pin-stripped jersey knit boxers, and finally a pair of white cotton-string bikinis that had been dropped at the foot of Brennan's bed.<p>

Laying in that bed were two very mellow and satiated people. Booth had rolled onto his back and his eyes were drooped as he enjoyed the feeling of Brennan's warm and pliant body molded as her right side was against his left. A light periwinkle blue damask flat sheet lightly covered the pair from the waist down. Booth's left arm lay across the curve of Brennan's spine where he was rhythmically moving it up and down in short lines near the small of her back.

Booth could tell from the rate of her breathing that Brennan was almost asleep. And, he knew he could very easily close his eyes and drift off into one of the best night's sleep he was sure he'd have in quite some time. However, as his eyes glanced to the neon green lettering of the digital clock that sat on top of one of her nightstands, he knew that he needed to get back to Quantico so the worst he could be accused of was being late for curfew as opposed to missing it altogether. He also knew that Brennan needed time to get up and dressed so that she would be able to prepare for her morning lecture without having to rush.

His decision made, regretfully, he gently shook her with his hip.

"Bren?"

The forensic anthropologist's stubborn response was an attempt to burrow more tightly into the bedding and against Booth's body.

Swallowing a small chuckle, he nudged her again. Increasing the speed of his hand's movement, he tilted his head so that his mouth was resting against her forehead. "Bren. Come on, baby. Wake up."

"Mmmmm."

"Bren―"

As she reluctantly began to stir against him, Booth smiled as he heard a sigh transition into a very audible grumble followed by a muttered curse word as Brennan continued to become more and more awake. Somewhat cranky, Brennan shifted in bed and lifted her head so that she could look up at Booth.

"I don't want to get up," she muttered as her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed.

"Sorry, beautiful," he said as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You know as much as I would love us to stay here all day, we both can't. We've got places to be, things to do, and not a lot of time to do it in."

Staring at him for a minute, the petulance of Brennan's grogginess eventually fell away. A defeated look of resignation replaced her earlier cranky look. Yawning once, she moved to sit up in bed. As she did so, she winced a bit as a hand went to her head.

"Owww."

"What?" Booth said, as he too shifted in bed.

"Head," Brennan grumbled. "Hurts―probably because I'm both dehydrated and sleep deprived."

"Want me to get you some aspirin?" Booth asked with a tender look coming into his eyes.

Nodding, she pointed vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. "There's a bottle of Tylenol in the medicine cabinet."

"I'll get it," Booth said with a nod. Slowly throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he was a bit surprised when the world began to spun slightly. Reaching out for the edge of the nightstand to steady himself, he knew that Brennan was watching him with an arched eyebrow. "I'm okay," he said instantly. "I―uhh, I think I just may've moved a bit too quickly."

"So, this means we're going to both be hung over in the morning?" Brennan replied.

Giving her a bit of a sheepish smile, Booth slowly nodded his head as he said, "Well, considering the fact that it's morning already, I'd say that's a definite yes."

As he gave her one last grin, he went into the bathroom. Brennan leaned back against the bed's headboard, enjoying the view of Booth's unclothed muscular posterior before it disappeared into the bathroom. Unable to her herself, she smiled as she called out, "You know, this really is all your fault."

"My fault?" came the quick retort. "What do you mean, my fault?"

"You're the one who started this by cracking open the first bottle of Merlot," Brennan answered. "None of this would've happened if we hadn't started drinking the wine."

The sounds of some shuffling were followed by the running of the tap. A minute later, Booth reappeared. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he handed her a cup of water before he popped the tell-tale red plastic cap on the small white bottle of painkillers he held in his hand. Taking two of the red and yellow gelcaps from the bottle, he passed them to Brennan before he took two for himself. Once they'd both downed the gelcaps, he set the bottle and the now empty cup on the edge of the nightstand. He then grinned as he pointed at her, "You know, I seem to recall that we weren't doing anything that violated the 'none-of-this-personal-stuff-exists-between-us-again-until-after-the-class-is-over' stuff until you accidentally kicked me and made me spill red wine all over my t-shirt."

"I warned you that I was ticklish," Brennan quickly responded. "And, besides, what type of person tries to drink a glass of red wine when he's supposed to be giving me a foot massage, anyway?"

"Hmmm," Booth replied. "I think you just wanted to have at me again."

"And, if I did, I don't think you protested all that much," Brennan said. She stopped and then tilted her head at him as she said, "Besides, it's not like we technically broke the agreement―we didn't _technically _have sexual intercourse."

"God," Booth laughed. "I feel like I'm sixteen again, and I'm trying to figure out how bad a penance I'm going to get when I go to confession and tell the priest I was messing around with my girl even if we didn't technically go all the way."

"Is that your way of saying you have any complaints?" Brennan asked with an arched eyebrow. "Because, a few hours ago, I don't seem to recall you complaining." She paused and then gave him a particularly evil grin as she said, "As a matter of fact, I seem to recall that the only thing you were capable of doing a few hours ago was moaning, groaning, gasping God's name, and then yelling out mine."

Leaning in towards her, he reached for her lips. Brennan allowed him to pull her in for a kiss before he smiled and said, "Ya know, as I recall, I wasn't the only one who was moaning and groaning and calling out God's name―which, I gotta admit, was kinda really funny to me since you're the one who's the self-professed atheist."

"It was used purely in a colloquial sense," Brennan explained, giving him a bit of a lop-sided grin. "I can assure you that despite your considerable skills in bed that you haven't been able to convert me to ascribing to some type of ethos that accepts a divine prime mover."

His chest puffed out a bit as she spoke, and Brennan couldn't help but roll her eyes as he didn't appear to hear her after she'd said one word.

"Considerable, huh?" he grinned at her.

"_Very _considerable," Brennan amended. Leaning in, she gave him another kiss. Booth started to deepen it without thinking, and this time, Brennan only let him do so for a minute or two before she was the one to pull away. "Stop," she murmured against his lips. "We can't."

"Can't what?" he breathed, clearly not letting her warning dissuade him from his current course of actions in the slightest.

Again, she gave in as he moved his lips towards hers and gently, but persistently, demanded entrance to her mouth. Opening them, she felt her heart rate increase and felt a flush of renewed warmth course throughout her body. Feeling a familiar―and quite welcome―sensation of lightheadedness wash over her, Brennan reached up and had leaned in to press her body further against his before she glanced at the clock on the side of the bed. Like a bucket of cold water, when she realized what time it was, Brennan reluctantly pulled away. When Booth tried to follow her, and close the distance between them as soon as she pulled away, she had to put a hand on his naked chest to stop him.

"Booth," she whispered. "Come on. You know if we start something here, it's only going to make things worse."

"I don't see how that's really possible, Bren," Booth said, giving her a wide-eyed grin. "Now, are you gonna stop playing hard to get or what since we both know it's kinda a moot point given what happened earlier, huh?"

"Hey!" she protested. "I was all fine and happy with how things were going earlier. Don't forget, you're the one who woke me up."

"Because," he said giving her a coy look. "We don't have time to sleep, true―but that doesn't mean we don't have time for a few other things before we have to get up and get dressed and go back to the real world."

"No," Brennan said, with a shake of her head. "I know better."

"Oh?" he laughed.

"Once you get started, there's no going back," Brennan nodded with a knowing look clear in her eyes. "And, since I seem not to be in any real position to resist you once we reach that point, that means I need to stop this before we even get started."

Reaching out, he leaned in to kiss her again. This time, Brennan shook her head and scrambled out of his arm's reach. Rolling over to the far side of the bed, she quickly kicked herself off of the bed. Standing up, she wagged her finger at him.

"No way, Booth."

"Awww, Bren," he pouted. "Come on. Don't be like that."

"If I hadn't been like that long before now," Brennan said with a small smile tugging at the edge of her lips. "We wouldn't even be where we are right now, remember?" Walking around to the other side of the bed, she reached out a hand to him.

Allowing her to pull him to his feet, he reached out with his free hand and tucked an errant strand of her deliciously mussed hair behind her ear. "Tease," he mumbled.

"I believe we both know that a tease is an individual who has no intention in delivering on her promise of sexual gratification," she told him as she tilted her head at him. "Considering the fact I did that for you twice this evening, I think we both know I'm not a tease."

"You're no fun," he continued to sulk. At this, she narrowed her eyes at him. Relenting at her look―particularly since it looked just a bit too much like the very familiar glare that she often shot at him when they were in the classroom―Booth nodded. "Oh, fine―I take it back. You're plenty of fun―"

"Thank you―"

"When you want to be," Booth finished with a slightly pleased look on his face. He stopped, and some of his playful pouting disappeared as he reached out and cupped Brennan's jaw with his free hand. "Bren?"

"Yes, Booth?"

"I know you probably don't want me to ask this," he began tentatively. "But, I sorta gotta know―"

"And, what's that?" she asked.

"Uhhh, given what's happened…not that it wasn't great and all―and I really did enjoy it. I mean, of course, I loved it…but―" His voice trailed off for a minute before he tilted his head and asked his questions. "Why did it happen? And…what happens next?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Brennan stared at him in that moment, one of the rare and unguarded instances when she let true vulnerability shine through her eyes. Tilting her head again at him, her voice lowered as she finally spoke. "I have an answer for you―answers to both questions, actually, but you aren't going to like them."

Sighing heavily, Booth said, "We're right back to where we were before, aren't we?"

"Yes," she said. She paused, and then, it was her turn to sigh. "Look, I'm not going to tell you that I regret what happened tonight, because that would be an outright lie―I don't. I'm…in a way, I'm very glad tonight happened...just like I'm glad that the last time happened the night when you blackmailed me into talking to you. And, I don't just mean that in the sense that I'm pleased at the physical relief we both achieved…although, I'm certainly grateful for that as well…"

"Bren?" he told her with a soft smile coming onto his face.

"What?" she breathed.

"You're rambling a bit," he told her.

Nodding, Brennan gave him a bit of a nervous smile. "Sorry," she said. "I just…I don't want to have to tell you what I'm about to say."

"Then, don't," Booth responded, shrugging his shoulders. "We both know where we stand. There's no point in beating a dead horse…as long as you're certain this...us...either time...if you're sure that none of this was a mistake."

"No," Brennan confirmed to him. "I don't…that is, I don't think we're a mistake."

"That's good enough for me then," he smiled as he let his hand fall away from her face. Gently tugging on her hand, he pulled her closer to him. "So, how about one more kiss before we go back to you glaring the famous Brennan Glare of Death that I know I get when I piss you off in class?"

Nodding, she let him place a single gentle kiss on her lips before she shifted and allowed herself a moment's respite to rest against his shoulder.

"It's just a few more days," she murmured against his chest. "Then, after the final exam, you and I…we'll take some time and sort things out and see where we stand."

"After the exam?" Booth repeated.

"After the exam," Brennan nodded. "I-I…it's just…you know it has to be like this, right, Booth? I know I said this before, but it can't keep happening while I'm teaching at the Academy. I mean it this time. I can't do it again...we can't do it again. I mean, with everything that's already happened, it's already so unethical it's not even amusing. I mean…I honestly never thought I'd be in a position where I'd be the professor who was sleeping with her student―"

"Well, I'm a very special student," Booth laughed.

"Yes, you certainly are, but even still…." Brennan said with a shake of her head. "If you know some of the things that I do, you'd see why I'm not amused myself, but―"

"You know, Bren," Booth told her. "I'd like to think that if I was just sleeping with the prof for my own benefit, I'd hope I could pull of something better with my skills set than the barely passing grade I've gotten so far. Otherwise, it would be quite the kick to my ego, ya know?"

"I assure you," Brennan smiled. "You've no need to feel any concern about _that _particular skill set―as I've already told you."

"Well," he chuckled. "Just so that we're clear on things."

She smiled again. Then stopped and asked, "Booth―everything else aside…do you think you'll be able to do what you need to do on the exam on Friday?"

"I hope so, Bren―I really hope so," he responded with a trace of mock grimness coming through in his demeanor. "Otherwise, my professor's probably gonna take it out of my ass."

"Don't you know it," she said with a firm nod, before pulling away from him to head to the shower to clean up for the morning. "Don't you just know it."

* * *

><p><span>-TBC-<span>


	12. Ch 12: Bested by a Persistent Student

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: ::stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p><span>Ch 12: Bested by a Persistent Student<span>

* * *

><p>Although most people probably wouldn't have believed it about FBI Trainee Timothy J. Sullivan, he could actually be a very sneaky and patient individual when he possessed the proper motivation to do so. Okay, so the sneaky part wasn't so surprising given his talent for causing mischief and mayhem, but the patient aspect of his personality usually surprised a great many people. However, on the Friday afternoon during which he finished his last day of testing on the forensics unit that served as a core foundation of his FBI trainee cohort's curriculum for the past several weeks, he decided to use both skills sets to set into motion a plan he'd been thinking about carrying out for some time.<p>

Normally, he would've consulted his best friend and partner-in-crime about such matters, but Sully had noticed how Booth had become more and more distant in the last two or three weeks. He'd missed curfew twice, and the only excuse he'd given each time was a mumbled 'it's personal' before he'd dropped the matter as soon as it was possible to do so. Sully wondered if things with the baby hadn't caused him to fall into another round of make up/break up sex with his ex. Given how squirrelly Booth had been acting over the last couple of weeks, it certainly made sense to Sully that a woman was somehow involved. In all the time that he'd known Seeley J. Booth, the only time Sully had ever seen his usually even-kilter demeanor go kerpluey was when a woman was involved―usually of the very blonde and very leggy variety. As a matter a fact, Rebecca was one of the blondest and most leggy of the women that Sully had ever seen Booth fall for, and the past two years of their on-again/off-again relationship had been both very amusing and quite painful at times to watch―perhaps even more so since Parker had been born. Still, Sully didn't know what or who else might be throwing Booth so much off his game aside from Rebecca. Remembering the date, he also knew that the timing was certainly coincidental in that there was now definitely no medical reason whatsoever that could prevent Booth from getting it on with his ex. But, until Booth decided that he was ready to confide in Sully, his friend knew there wasn't much he could do to force him to spill his guts about what―or, more appropriately...who'd been on his mind so much in recent days. Thus, Sully had been content to let Booth do his own thing. Unfortunately, an unintended consequence of that decision was that Sully, too, was left to his own devices. And, that was how he'd ended up waiting outside of the seminar room that had served as both their classroom and makeshift office for one Dr. Temperance Brennan with no one having given approval to his plan but himself.

He'd been standing outside the seminar room for about twenty minutes, merely watching through the small rectangular observation window as Brennan continued to toil through stack after stack of exam blue booklets. The more he watched her, the more he became enamored of seemingly mundane mannerisms that she had. Of course, he'd noticed them before―a person really can't see the same individual day-after-day like Sully had during the time when Brennan had been teaching his class and not notice such things. For example, he stared at the way two tiny parallel lines on her forehead, just above her nose, became more prominent as she read a response and assessed its content. Most times, her lusciously full lips were closed while she worked in complete silence. But, every so often, she'd make a face at something she'd read and shake her head in displeasure when it was something that annoyed her. More infrequently, when she was pleased with an answer, a large smile would break out on her normally guarded face. Although he couldn't see her legs from where he was situated, Sully was skilled enough in reading a person's body language that he was willing to bet fifty bucks that she occasionally shook one of her feet when she was getting bored with reading one test, but hadn't yet finished grading it. All of these little quirks endeared her to him all the more. And―although it had been her physical attributes that had initially spurred him on in what he had no idea would be a foolhardy quest―all of these little quirks seemed to combine to make it quite certain that, if he hadn't been struck by Cupid's arrow before he stood outside her classroom and watched her for twenty minutes, the arrow had definitely flown true by the time he worked up enough courage to knock on the door to alert her to his presence.

At the soft, but insistent knock―one which Sully had timed just after Brennan had smiled at whatever test answer she was reading―she looked up from her desk, somewhat surprised to see Sully's face almost pressed up against the glass. For a split second, Brennan had felt a flutter in her stomach with the hope that Booth might try to bend the stipulations of their agreement by citing some technicality because she'd really missed him and wanted to see him. However, when she saw that it was a dark haired and dark eyed trainee that was there to see her―just not the one that she had hoped―she pushed such romantic sentimentalities out of her head.

Considering the fact that she was being interrupted, and Brennan didn't really like to be interrupted when she was grading, her smile quickly disappeared and a small frown displaced it in fairly short order. However, knowing that her students knew her well enough by now not to disturb her unless it were a matter of some import, Brennan quickly waved at Sully, indicating that he should enter.

Sully felt a flush of pleasure when he saw Brennan's baby blue eyes look up from her stack of grading, glance at the doorway, recognize him, and after a moment, then grant him permission to enter her domain. Taking a breath, he pushed the sudden wave of twittering nervousness that the rush of pleasure had quickly transitioned to out of the way and grasped the door's handle firmly. Opening the door, he put a smile on his face as he walked through it and then waited at a safe distance from Brennan's desk before encroaching what might be considered too far without permission.

After another moment, as Brennan finished writing the comment she'd been in the middle of making with her red gel ink pen when Sully had knocked, she set her pen down on her desk. Tilting her head, Brennan was the first to speak as she looked over at Sully. "Trainee Sullivan―what can I do for you?"

"I, uh, I had a question I wanted to ask you," Sully said, hoping his voice didn't sound too high pitched or too excitable as it sounded in his head as he spoke.

In reality, his tone and demeanor seemed quite ordinary to Brennan. That was why she waved him off as she responded, "If you're here about the grade on your exam, as I explained to the class this morning, I won't have them all done and final grades posted until Monday morning."

"No," Sully responded, shaking his head as he said. "That is, I'm not here about the exam."

"Then, why are you here, Trainee Sullivan?" Brennan asked, her nondescript face taking on a slightly displeased look at his response. _No offense, Sullivan, but you're not the trai__nee I want to be interrupted by, so if we could hurry this exchange up, that would be wonderful, because I know I have absolutely no chance in seeing Booth while you're here―__not that I would see him anyway because we made our agreement, but even still―_

"I'm here," Sully began, "That is―" _Come on, Sullivan. You've been practicing this line for a week. It's do or die time, buddy, so don't screw this up. Pretend like you're wearing Nikes and just do it!_

"Yes?" Brennan prompted him, her patience clearly wearing thin as she leveled a hard stare at him.

"My question is, once you finish grading the exams, and you turn in our final grades for the forensics module to Agents Warner and Kenton, my understanding is that your professional association with the FBI is at an end―is that correct?" Sully asked.

Whatever question Brennan had been anticipating Sully to ask her, it wasn't even remotely touched upon by the one that he finally verbalized. Thus, she was slightly caught off guard, and reverted to type when she quickly responded, giving him a blatantly truthful answer.

"Yes," Brennan said tentatively, "It's true that my involvement with your trainee cohort and my time at Quantico is officially at an end when I give Agent Warner your grades on the forensics module."

As she spoke, Sully felt his heart rate increase and a small smile light his face at her words. _Aha! Gotcha_, he thought. _Now, if you'd just let me get a word in edgewise_―

"But, no, it's not true that my professional association with the FBI ends with my work here at Quantico being completed―" Brennan continued.

As she kept speaking, the happiness that Sully had felt quickly evaporated. _Awww, damn it. You've got to be kidding me_, he mentally groaned.

"You see, in my capacity as a forensic anthropologist in the employ of the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal Lab, I've recently been retained by the FBI as a consultant―"

"Ahhh," Sully said, his eyes suddenly bouncing up to meet hers, once more full of hope as he latched onto her last word. "You said consultant, right?"

"Yes, I believe I did, as I was explaining before you so rudely interrupted me, Trainee Sullivan," Brennan said, her nose pinching slightly in annoyance at being cut off.

"But, consultants are FBI employees," Sully pointed out, the small seed of hope that he'd latched onto growing larger in his chest.

"No," Brennan agreed. "Not technically. Why?"

"Well," Sully began, flashing her a smile. "I was hoping, not now―but maybe once you've turned in our grades and everything's on the up-and-up so no one can accuse us of any unethical behavior―would you like to get dinner sometime?"

As soon as the words were out of Sully's mouth, he stared at her with anxious and happy anticipation. Brennan, for her part, could only blink as she replayed his words in her head to make certain she'd heard his question correctly. After a minute, she blinked at him again, and then asked, "Excuse me, but did you just ask me out?"

"Yeah," Sully grinned. "I did."

"Why?" Brennan asked.

"Because," Sully responded, continuing to smile. "I'd like to get to know you a little better and that's sorta what two people do when they go out on a date."

"A date," Brennan said, almost chewing each word as if it were a distasteful foreign axiom that she'd never heard before and had been forced to master.

"Yeah," Sully responded again. "You know…I pick you up…say maybe 7ish on Monday night―only after the grades are in mind you since this isn't official business―you wear a cute dress, I wear a cute tie and jacket―because, I promise...despite what you've seen so far, I actually do clean up pretty well when it's not an ungodly hour like when our class starts. Then, I take you to a cozy restaurant and buy you dinner. We get a few drinks, but not too many since my goal isn't really to end up doing something crazy like downing tequila shots and getting you into bed on the first date or anything. We talk…we laugh…we have a good time, maybe split a dessert where I can spoon you bits of sugary goodness, we talk and laugh some more. Maybe go dancing or for a walk on the Mall after we're done eating...and then see what happens."

"Trainee Sullivan―"

"Ya know, just for future reference, once it's not official, you don't have to call me that," Sully told her, still quite pleased with himself at the picturesque first date he'd just painted for Brennan.

"If you'd prefer to be called something else―wait, I remember now. Agent Kenton explained to me that you have a nickname. Robin, wasn't it? Because, if you prefer, I can call you Robin now instead of later, but―"

Sighing a bit, Sully shook his head, "While it's true that Booth kinda gets off on being called Batman, I'm not that much into being equated to a Boy Wonder. So, how about we just go with Sully? It's what everyone else calls me."

"Fine," Brennan said, making a mental note to ask Booth about the Batman nickname again when she saw him later. _That's too funny_, she couldn't help but randomly think as she simultaneously tried to figure out a way to get out of the potential mess that Sully was trying to pull her into. "Sully."

"Mmmm," he said, the grin that had been on his face growing even larger as she spoke. He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the sensation before he added, "I do love that."

"What?" she blinked at him.

"When you say my name like that," he replied, opening his eyes to look at her confused gaze.

"Trainee Sullivan, as I was saying," Brennan immediately backpedaled. "I'm afraid I can't accept your proposition."

"Why not, Doc?" Sully asked, some of his smile fading as he unintentionally used one of the two nicknames he'd given to Brennan in his conversations with Booth since 'the hottie prof' didn't seem like a good one to use until after he'd gotten her to agree to go out with him. _You can't shoot me down when I haven't even had the chance to put the full court press on, Doc. So, come on_―

"Because," Brennan quickly protested. "That is, I'm…I've already got plans on Monday evening."

"Then, how about Tuesday?" he said, hope reasserting itself as he stubbornly persisted in his pursuit of his goal.

"No," Brennan shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't do Tuesday either."

"Why not?"

"Work," Brennan answered just a bit too fast. "I'm due back at the lab next week, and this case―"

Waving her off, Sully told her, "Everyone's got to eat sometime, Doc. If you can't do dinner, how about lunch? I know this great sub joint that makes the _best _sausage and peppers sub. They even deliver, so we're good if you're short on time―"

"But―" Brennan was quickly at a loss for how to let Sully down easy given his persistence, especially given what she really wanted to say. _I'm sorry, but I've already got my eye on one FBI trainee, and I'm afraid he's more than I can handle as is once the class is over, so…I don't want to be rude, but_―

"Come on, Doc," Sully began again. He then paused as another thought occurred to him. "Wait…you aren't trying to let me down easy because you're not available, are you?"

"Not available?" Brennan asked quizzically.

"Ya know, not available as in romantically," Sully explained.

"Oh," Brennan frowned as she considered his question. _Not available? How in the hell do I answer that since Booth and I don't even know if we're coming or going with one another? _"I―"

"Are you seeing anyone right now?" Sully clarified when he sensed that Brennan was trying to figure out a way to evade his question. "That is…are you dating anyone? Do you have a boyfriend or something? Because, if you do, that's okay. I can take a hint―"

Sighing, Brennan knew she couldn't outright lie, and so shook her head as she finally responded, "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

As Sully watched her, when Brennan spoke, he silent exhaled a large breath he'd been holding. "Great," he said. "Then, like I said…lunch at the lab on Monday. How's that sound?"

Shaking her head slowly, this time it was Brennan's turn to sigh as she looked at Sully and said, "I'm sorry, but I just can't."

* * *

><p>The sound of the bullets hitting their target had always made Booth feel better when he was shooting on a range. Okay, never mind the fact that in his distracted state, he wasn't really paying attention to the sound of the bullets hitting the target, muffled as they were because of the safety gear he wore over his ears. But, he could still feel the reverberation from the gun as he unloaded clip after clip from his Glock at the target and that did make him feel better.<p>

For some reason, firing the handgun had always brought him a sense of satisfaction that he'd never felt when he fired a rifle. It was seeking that solace that had driven Booth to one of the indoor ranges at Quantico as soon as he'd finished his forensics final exam.

He winced as he recalled how he'd felt as soon as he turned in the test booklet, had grabbed his bag, and hurriedly walked towards Brennan's desk to turn it in to her. He hadn't even been able to bring himself to look at her eyes―not that he was even sure she'd be looking at him given the revised agreement they'd made two days before when he'd left her apartment after one of the best showers he'd ever had the pleasure of taking where getting clean was a secondary concern at best. No, he merely dropped his blue booklet off on her desk and then hastily retreated out the door and headed straight to the gun range.

And, the reason as to why he'd needed to come to the range after the exam still made his stomach roil in panicked fear. He tried to push the thoughts that made him want to toss his cookies away as quickly as he could, but found he was having more and more trouble doing so as each hour after the testing period's conclusion passed. Although he knew he'd probably only make himself feel even worse than he already did, Booth glanced at his wrist watch and wondered if Brennan had gotten to his exam yet. His brow furrowed as he made a face at the thought given what he knew she'd find when she read his answers.

Because Booth knew one thing as sure as he'd known his own name when he turned in the forensics final―he'd failed it…and with that failure, he'd probably kissed his future career as an FBI agent goodbye before it had even started.

* * *

><p><span>-TBC-<span>


	13. Ch 13: Bested by Colic and Whiskey Shots

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: ::stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p><span>Ch 13: Bested by Colic and Whiskey Shots<span>

* * *

><p>Rebecca Stinson had always considered herself to be a relatively calm and even-tempered person. It was one of the key reasons why she'd always imagined herself to be so well-suited to law, particularly the courtroom. She wasn't sure if she'd be better with criminal or civil law―although she suspected that civil law would probably be a better fit for her for some reason that she couldn't quite articulate. It would just be a question of time, really, until she'd find out for certain...one way or the other. She'd taken the LSAT, she'd sent off her admission applications, and hopefully, by the time that Parker was taking his first steps, she'd be getting acceptance letters from at least a few of her top schools of choice.<p>

As she stared at her infant son, Rebecca couldn't help but smile even though she felt exasperatingly overwhelmed at almost _exactly_ the same time. Parker was a gift, and she loved him—even if she hadn't quite been ready to become a mom when she'd found out she was carrying him. Even though her unexpected (read: unplanned) pregnancy had pushed back her plans to apply for admission to law school last year, she looked at it as an opportunity. Her infant son, much like a jury, was a captive audience who just needed to be dazzled so that she could get what she wanted from him.

It was that mindset that Rebecca desperately tried to hold onto as she mentally recited, _Keep your calm, keep your cool. Dazzle him, impress him. You can do this, Becks. Come on. You can do this. He's not even six months old yet. _ _Keep your calm, keep your cool. Dazzle him, impress him. _

Unfortunately for her the goal of successfully maintaining own sanity, Rebecca was at a loss for how to keep her calm or cool or how to dazzle or impress her son. Parker, who'd always been a slightly colicky baby, seemed to have gotten worse when he didn't see his father for extended periods of time. The pediatrician had assured Rebecca that he'd most likely grow out of the colic after he was three or four months old. That had been more than eight weeks ago, and Rebecca was still waiting for Parker to 'grow out of' his colic. And, even more frustrating for her, there wasn't any solid scientific evidence to prove why the baby should decide to be less colicky and stop crying just because he was around his father.

But, after six hours of Parker's fussing, Rebecca was about to metaphorically lose it and didn't know what else to try to quiet her baby. Glancing at the calendar that sat tacked to the corkboard in her kitchen, she realized it was a Friday. That meant, if she timed her call correctly, she might actually be able to get to Seeley in between his classes at Quantico.

_God, I hate doing this, but I'm at my wits end here,_ Rebecca thought as her eyes darted to the cordless phone that sat on the counter underneath the corkboard to which the wall calendar was attached. She slowly walked over to the counter and made a grab for the phone. She held it for a minute as she stared back at the bright blue Fischer Price bouncer seat where Parker sat bawling. _God, Parks…you're killing me here, _she mentally groaned.

With another sigh, she glanced at her wailing son and nodded. "Okay, Parker. You win," Rebecca said glumly. "You win. I'll call him."

Quickly pressing the 'on' button, Rebecca dialed an all too familiar number. Within the span of time it took for less than two rings to have elapsed, an all too familiar voice answered the line.

"Hey, Seeley―yeah, it's me. No…he's okay. I mean, yeah, he's fine…but, I'm not. I'm so sorry to bother you at school, but...well, you're not going to believe this...but, it's his colic. He's been crying for hours…and I'm going nuts here and didn't know what else to do," Rebecca said honestly as she spoke into the phone. "I hate to interrupt you, but―I-I…I think I need some help. I don't know what else to do, and...could you―?"

Rebecca didn't even get a chance to finish the sentence before she received an answer in the affirmative. A minute later, the phone call was finished, and Booth was in route.

Glancing over at her son, Rebecca managed a weary smile as she realized that she might not loose what little sanity she'd been able to hold on to since Parker's latest crying jag had begun just after dinner.

"You're a lucky little guy, you know that? You're very lucky to have such a good daddy, Parker," Rebecca told the infant as she set the cordless phone back on its charging base. "Because if you just had me, I'm pretty certain that you'd driven me nutty already….not that I'm that far from it to begin with, though, right?"

Parker's only response was another high pitch cry that made his mother wince as she glanced at her watch and wondered how long it would take Seeley to get from Quantico to her apartment.

* * *

><p>She'd worked hard to finish the grading of the final exams and calculate unit grades because, she told herself, she was a dedicated and hardworking instructor who wanted to finish the job with which she'd been tasked when she'd agreed to teach in the ad hoc position at the FBI Academy. The diligence and commitment she'd demonstrated in buckling down and spending nine hours straight grading and averaging numbers had absolutely nothing to do with one person's killer smile and even more killer brown eyes.<p>

_But_, another voice chimed in her head, _if that was really the case, then why did you save his exam for last? Why did you wait until you'd graded all the other exams and averaged all the other grades to even look at his test? Is it because you know that deep down…he's special? He's more than you'd expected, and you know that once you grade this exam and average his final grade and turn in those grades to Warner and Kenton that you'll be free? You'll finally be free to see what can happen with him now that neither one of you has any more excuses to hid behind. And, you also know that no matter what else happens, you'll finally be able to have actual sex intercourse without any feelings of guilt or regret or any technicalities standing in the way of what you really want to do. Isn't that why you really saved his exam for the last?_

A small flush of warmth flood her body as she smiled slightly and reached for his exam. Who was she kidding, anyway? That voice in her head was right. He _was _special…and now, there was only a single blue book exam and a single line of numbers standing in between her and the finding out of how special he actually was….

Then, Brennan opened the exam booklet and the warmth that had flooded her body disappeared. She felt some of the blood drain out of her face as she tentatively flipped through the pages of his exam booklet, and she blanched more and more with each page she read.

"Oh, God―Booth," she whispered, when she finally reached the end of the booklet. "What…how? I don't understand…."

She stopped, set the exam booklet down on the top of her desk, and looked away from it. The hours she'd spent with Booth going over definitions, theories, and concepts reverberated in her mind as she tried to make sense of how he'd taken that studying, let the information matriculate in his brain, and then have it end up spewed out in this amorphous mental mind dump of inane drivel that served as his response to the three hypothetical scenarios the students had been asked to write on in the forensics final exam.

"Booth―you knew this stuff. You did," Brennan muttered as her tried brain attempted to make sense of things. "I know you did…so how―how could this have happened? I just don't understand. What…what did you do?"

_What did you do? Why? And...what does that mean for us?_

* * *

><p>Considering the fact that it was almost two-thirty in the morning, and that he'd just spent the past Friday evening getting completely and totally shitfaced in celebration of completing what many considered the hardest portion of their Academy training, Tim Sullivan was actually feeling pretty good. Now, while it was true most of the euphoric feeling that was fueling each step—although, to be accurate, it was really more like a lucky, upright stumble towards his dorm—had come from the whiskey shots that some of his friends kept buying him, he didn't really care how he came to feel as happy as he was in that moment. All he cared about was what a great night he'd had—and how the only blemish on the evening's festivities had been the noticeable absence of his best friend and roommate.<p>

"Of course, if one of us were gonna screw things up tonight, it would be old Mr. Big and Broody," Sully muttered to himself. "God, I hate it when he gets like this. He's always got to be a friggin' buzzkill. I mean, look at how good he is…he's not even here, and he's got me talking myself into killing what's left of my buzz because a teeny, tiny corner of my brain where I did get the Jack Daniels to obliterate some brain cells is still alive and kicking. Damn it—"

Sully's nostrils flared as he continued walking towards the dorm's front entrance.

"That's it," he said to no one in particular. "I'm so gonna kick his ass when I get upstairs. He's managing to ruin a perfectly good buzz that cost someone at that bar a pretty penny to help me tie on, and that's a default form of alcohol abuse—for which there is no forgiveness. Damn it, Booth. Seriously, I mean it. Damn it—"

Sully had begun to work himself into a fairly good lather by the time he managed to get his access card out of his wallet, wasted five minutes not getting the door to unlock because he was sliding the car with the bar stripe facing the wrong direction, lurched into the elevator, and battled off an expected battle of nausea. He then spent another five minutes trying to remember which one of his keys opened the look on the door to his dorm room and took some pleasure from the fact that he hoped the nose he'd made would rouse Booth from whatever depressing slumber he'd slept into given how dark the room seemed from when Sully looked and saw no light coming from underneath the door slit. However, when he finally did get the door open, and he wobbled into the room, he flipped on the overhead light and grinned to himself.

"Guess what time it is, ladies and gents? It's time for another entertaining episode of 'Wake Your Roommate Up and Kick His Ass for Ruining Your Buzzkill' here on the Gameshow Network. So, you know what that means, right, Booth?" Sully grumbled, and didn't bother to wait for an answer. "It means it's time to get your sorry ass up so I can kick it," Sully said as he tottered over to Booth's bed. He smiled to himself as he said, "Was I too loud when I unlocked the door? Because I hope I was really loud and really annoying and woke you up in the middle of a really good dream. And, you wanna know why, my friend? It has to do with this good influence you're apparently being on me because I chose to come back here to check on you instead of going home with a really hot red-head named Farah. Or Sarah. Or, maybe it was Darah. I don't remember which, but she was really hot, and she totally wanted me, man. But, I said no and walked away with nothing more than her digits because I kept feeling guilty worrying about you when you didn't answer your damn phone all night. I mean, what's up with that, Booth? All it would've taken was two seconds to let me know that you were okay. But, you didn't because you've been brooding because…well, shit. I don't know why you're doing the Bruce Wayne thing again unless you thought it was a fun way to spend a Friday night instead of having a good time with your buddies."

When Sully finally noticed that Booth hadn't so much as shifted into his bed—let alone said anything in response to the words Sully's alcohol addled brain had thought were fairly infuriating words—he trudged over to the bed and pounded on the place where he thought that Booth's neck and shoulders would be.

"Come on, Booth," Sully said in a loud voice. "Time to wake up—"

As Sully's hand punched the bedding—and only came into contact with the sub-par institution standard bedding provided for them by the Academy, since Booth hadn't had the foresight to pick up some of his own bedding aside from a worn purple quilt—he immediately drew his hand back. Making a face, Sully stared at the bedding in confusion. When he pulled the comforter and sheets back, and found himself staring not at Booth as he'd anticipated but just a stack of pillows, it took him a few minutes to put things together.

"What the hell, man?" Sully grumbled in clear annoyance.

Sighing, he threw himself down onto Booth's bed as he stared at the room and tried to figure out what had happened to his friend. His eyes immediately went to each of their desks and the dry erase board that was pinned up between them. When Sully saw no obvious note on either the desks or dry erase board, he lifted his index finger to his head and scratched an imaginary itch.

Finally, shaking his head, Sully stood up and sighed as he muttered, "Seriously, Booth. You're a total buzzkill. Totally."

* * *

><p>Dr. Temperance Brennan's night hadn't turned out at all the way in which she'd envisioned it originally progressing. Although she didn't consider herself to be a particularly spontaneous individual, she had to admit she was somewhat surprised as to where she'd finally ended up. She tried to make sense of what had brought her to this time and place, and the more she thought about it, the more she could only come up with one answer: <em>Booth<em>.

There was always a certain amount of randomness that needed to be calculated as a variable when trying to foresee any particular outcome. But, since they'd run into one another a few months earlier in a moment of chance—because Brennan _still _wasn't willing to concede that she was the one who'd hit Booth's car—well, her life had been anything but rational...or predictable.

The car accident.

_That car accident_, she thought. _God, if I knew then what I know now. Would I have followed him back to his apartment? Would we have fallen into bed? Would I have let him convince me to stay in the morning? Would we have fallen into bed again? And, then, what about everything that happened after it._

The car accident.

At the very least, even after the numerous hours they'd spent debating—or, as Booth would say, bickering—about the accident, Brennan still maintained the traffic officer who'd given _her _the ticket had been at least partially wrong. If she bore some responsibility for the accident, then it was only equitable and appropriate that Booth should admit that he'd also contributed to the circumstances that led to her Toyota Corolla sedan hitting his Jeep Cherokee SUV.

"You'd say I was just being stubborn, right, Booth?" Brennan muttered to herself as she lifted her eyes and sought out a familiar window from the bench she sat on near Booth's dorm. "Like I'm being right now, right? Stubborn? And…God, what am I even doing here?"

_What are you doing here, Brennan? Really? He's just a guy_, a voice in her head echoed. _Just a guy. And, he's turned your world upside down. But, even knowing that—well, you're still here. You're still here...for him. Why? What's so special about him? Why's he so important that you had to drop everything you were doing to talk to him about a damn test? More importantly, why are you still using that exam as an excuse when you know...you really know way down deep, that the real reason your here has nothing to do with his test...and everything to do with him._

Once she'd admitted that part to herself, Brennan had finally made it from her car to the dorm itself. That was where she now found herself, having been sitting on the bench for almost a half hour trying to work up the courage to figure out someway to get into the dorm and speak to Booth. It was a completely infuriating way to feel, and Brennan had spent a fair amount of time wrestling with how she'd come to feel because of a single man that had brought chaos into her world.

"Damn it, Booth," Brennan sighed as she stood up and finally let her normal personality assert itself.

_Fine, _she told herself. _If you're here, at least if you leave here it will be for regretting something you did do instead of something you spend the rest of your life wondering about with that treacherously irksome statement 'what if'._

__"But, that's it. I'm doing this," she told herself. "Now..._right now_. No more second guessing. No more useless hand wringing or meek pervirocating. It's time to make a choice, and one way or another...do it. So...yes. That's it. I'm going to do it. Now—right now."

Steeling her resolve, she clutched her bag to her shoulder, smoothed invisible wrinkles in the trench coat that was wrapped tightly around her body, and took a deep breath. She was about to head towards the dorm to see if her ID would somehow providentially give her access—as she preferred to start there instead of rousing more suspicion and attention than was necessary by calling one of the security guards—when someone bolted outside of the dorm front entry way.

As the dark haired man bolted towards her, he almost knocked her off her feet, and Brennan grunted as he went by her.

"What the hell!" Brennan snapped.

At her words, the scurrying form suddenly stopped and looked at Brennan. Tim Sullivan, on his buzzed search (read: drunken fool's errand) to find his best friend, thought he was seeing things. Still, as he stood blinking at Brennan, Sully thought he was seeing things.

But, just to be on the safe side, Sully asked, "Dr. Brennan?"

Some of the annoyance had left Brennan's face as she took in the disheveled form of Timothy Sullivan.

"Mr. Sullivan," Brennan finally managed to respond.

"Uhhh, yeah," Sully nodded. "But, uhh, seeing as how it's almost three o'clock in the morning, and our class technically ended, even if you won't let me take you out, how about you just call me Sully?"

"Sully," Brennan nodded, her eyes darting around as if she expected another one of her students to appear out of thin air since it appeared somehow she'd conjured an FBI trainee out of thin air—just not the one she'd hoped. "Very well. I can do that…if you wish."

"Yeah," Sully nodded. "I do…that is, I wish it…if you'd call me, Sully."

"Okay," Brennan replied. "Sully."

It was then that the quest to find Booth suddenly seemed much less interesting—or important—to Sully than it had been a mere five minutes earlier. As he took in the skittish form of his former (by 12 hours) forensics instructor, Sully suddenly broke into a cocky grin as he said, "So, uhhh, Dr. Brennan. What are you doing here?"

Biting her lip, Brennan was uncertain how to respond. _But, he's Booth's best friend…and roommate_, a voice reminded her. _He can get you in the building…and he'd be the only one to know. Logically, Brennan, it makes sense to take advantage of this opportunity if your goal is to see Booth tonight. So, take it._

Lifting her blue eyes to meet his, she asked, desperately hoping that her voice didn't sound too nervous as she spoke, "I, uhhh, was looking for Trainee Booth. You haven't, by chance, seen him recently…have you?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sully felt like he'd shifted into what he figured to be about his third dimension (at least) that evening. As he glanced at his watch, and made certain that in his drunkenness he hadn't misread the time, he could only blink back at his instructor as he realized that Brennan…was looking for Booth…at his dorm…in the middle of the night.

"Uhhh, Dr. Brennan?" Sully asked, ignoring her question as he asked one of his own. "Before I answer that, I gotta ask—what in the hell do you want with Booth at three o'clock in the morning?"

Brennan could only stare at him, her eyes wide as her face paled a bit, and she tried to figure out what was the most appropriate response.

_Damn it. _

_Damn it._

_Damn, damn, damn!_

_Damn it!_

* * *

><p>-<span>TBC<span>-

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>: I've been getting more than a few queries and notes and such through various reviews and PMs asking me if I've stopped writing Bones fan fic and/or abandoned any of my stories. I wanted to take this opportunity to post a response here. The answer is a most definite _no_. I have never, _ever_ left a story unfinished—and I honestly doubt I ever will since I'm a bit too OCD to do that. While it's true, that sometimes it does take longer than at other times to get one finished, I always see things through to their eventual conclusions (heavy emphasis on eventual). Now, that being said, there's only so much time in the day, and combined with the finickyness of the muse, there's no rhyme or reason as to what story will be updated when or how. It's true that some joint projects with dharmamonkey have been getting updated more quickly in the last couple of months as far as the stories that have been updated most recently—we've posted several "A Very Bad Idea" scenarios, including a rewrite on "The Doctor in the Photo" (now posted and available under dharmamonkey's profile) as well as a very AU historical piece starring B&B in 16th century England called "The Inquisitor" (now posted and available under dharmamonkey's profile), and a Bones/Angel crossover entitled "Toe to Toe" (now posted and available under my profile). I'm not sharing this information this to pimp these stories per se—although I wouldn't be heart broken if any of my regular readers chose to check out those stories because of this note. Why I am sharing it is because I do want everyone to know that even if it seems like I'm not as active as I have been in recent months, believe it or not, I'm still writing Bones fan fic...somewhere to the tune of producing at least 20k words or more per week. You just need to know where to look. So, hopefully this answers everyone's question, reassures those who are nervous, and lets us all get back to the wonderful world of writing and/or reading stories. I do appreciate everyone's inquiries, as I'm taking that as a sign of interest and—by default—support of my work. Many thanks in advance.~


	14. Ch 14: Bested by His Roommate

Betrayed By Those Loved Best

By: Lesera128

Rated: T

Disclaimer: ::stares:: ::blinks:: ::stares again:: Yeah. I still don't own anything…but, you knew that from the stares, right?

Summary: Recently accepted to the FBI Academy, Booth struggles to complete his training as he clashes with an instructor & is pulled into the investigation of the Broken Promises serial killer. AU.

* * *

><p><span>Ch 14: Bested by His Roommate<span>

* * *

><p>Through his rapidly fading whiskey-induced alcoholic haze, FBI trainee Timothy Sullivan was trying to make sense of what his eyes and ears were telling him.<p>

Fact: he hadn't hallucinated encountered Dr. Temperance Brennan, his former―as of twelve hours earlier, at least―Academy instructor in forensics, in front of his dorm at Quantico.

Fact: it was three o'clock in the morning.

Fact: said instructor was apparently looking for Sully's roommate and best friend.

Fact: Sully didn't have a clue where in the hell Booth was.

All of these facts were swirling around in his head when some errant neuron in his brain decided to react to Brennan's inquiry as to if he might know where Booth was at the current moment in quite an unexpected way. Initially, Sully had opened his mouth to tell

Brennan that Booth wasn't in the dorm, and―because he was worried about how moody Booth had been after the forensic final―Sully had decided to go on some grand quest to find him. Much as he viewed himself as Sancho Panza to Booth's Don Quixote, he felt it both his duty and prerogative to look after his much-to-prone-to-brood best friend. However, as he noted that Brennan―normally a person whom he'd never describe as hesitant―seemed almost nervous as she waited for Sully to answer her question. That one observation seemed to be the curious point that his inebriated brain latched onto and cause him unexpectedly to spit out the question that loomed now between the pair.

"Uhhh, Dr. Brennan? Before I answer that, I gotta ask—what in the hell do you want with Booth at three o'clock in the morning?"

_Good question_, a random voice echoed in Sully's head as he waited for Brennan's answer. _Not just a good question, but a great question. What __does__ the good doctor want with Booth of all people at 3 o'clock in the friggin' morning?_

He blinked several times while he awaited some type of answer to his question. As he looked at Brennan, he saw a strange series of wash over the forensic anthropologist's face. For some reason he couldn't quite grasp, she seemed to be struggling in coming up with any type of response for his question, let alone a suitable one.

Finally, as the silence continued to hang between them, Sully couldn't stand it any longer as some of his infamous impatience flared, and he prodded her, "Dr. Brennan?"

When he said her name, Brennan was startled out of a battle with herself as she looked at him and finally spoke.

"I, errr, I…I-I…I needed to speak with him about something," Brennan finally managed to mutter, offering some type of answer to him that, even to her untrained―from the perspective of an individual with no significant experience on interpersonal relations―sounded rather lame.

"At three o'clock in the morning?" Sully could help but ask, his tone a bit more sharp than he'd intended. As soon as he'd spoken, when he saw Brennan pale at his words, he paused as his brow furrowed. He tried to soften his tone as he added, "That is, it isn't any of my business, but you've gotta admit that it's sorta weird, and I know I may be rambling here a bit, but it's only because it's been a really long week when I haven't slept a lot, and I've been under a lot of stress, and to blow off some steam, I went out celebrating tonight. And, when I was with some buddies of mine, I probably had a few more drinks then I should've, so if the filter that's between my mouth and brain isn't really working right―not that it works that well on a good day, because, I mean, we both know I've got some serious impulse control issues when it comes to my mouth even on a good day―" He stopped only when he saw the look of confusion that had clouded Brennan's face. Sticking his hands in the pocket of his jeans, Sully said, "Look, I'm sorry. I-I…it's none of my business why you want to see Booth."

Brennan, her heart beating wildly as she tried to figure out a way to get out of what was a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of control, tried to downplay the oddity of whatever reason could've driven her to seek out one of her (recently former) students at such a strange time and place. "It's not a big deal," she told Sully. "I just needed to speak to him. It was…that is, there was an issue that I wanted to discuss with him, and I felt that time was of the essence. It was probably stupid coming here, but I was in my office grading the final exams and averaging the forensic unit final averages and―"

Suddenly, a look of comprehension dawned on Sully's face as he said, "Oh, wait a minute. Does this…that is, did you come to talk to him about his test? Did he really do as badly as he thinks he did? He wasn't really clear earlier when we left the classroom, but the general vibe I was getting was that Booth was just doing that thing he tends to do and thinking the worst of things. But, if you're here in the middle of the night, is it because he really screwed the pooch as badly as he thought? I mean, if he did, and you're here―wait, why are you here again?"

Brennan opened her mouth and tried to figure out what to say. She took a breath and then said vaguely, "I can't really discuss another student's performance on the exam or grades, Trainee Sullivan―"

"Sully," he interrupted her.

Brennan sighed and then amended, "I can't really discuss anything related to Trainee Booth's classwork, Sully."

"Better," he nodded approvingly.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Brennan continued, "I'm sure you understand. There are laws concerning his privacy, both professionally and ethically, I'm bound―"

Brennan couldn't help but here a voice in her head snicker when she stumbled on the idea of using the ideas of professionalism and ethics to see if it could get her out of what was far past the point of no return when it came to rescuing her from a very awkward situation.

_Professionalism_, the voice snickered. _Ethics. Professional, ethics, and Booth, Brennan. Smooth, real smooth on that one_.

For his part, Sully didn't seem to notice Brennan's slight pause as he suddenly waved his hands dismissively and said, "Oh, sure. I get it. This is one of those things where you just want to do right by your students, and so this is one of those things where you were here, but you were never here, right?"

Not quite certain what he had said, but sensing the moment of her escape was potentially at hand, Brennan nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "That's it exactly."

Sully stared at her for almost a full moment, his appreciation and admirably for Brennan growing even more than it had been just as few hours earlier―and _that _was saying something. Smiling at her, he said approvingly, "God, you are _so_ awesome."

"Thank you," Brennan said simply. She stopped, and then, slinging her purse over her shoulder, she asked, "So, Booth?"

"Oh, yeah," Sully said. He then made a face and said, "I'd love to help you with that one, Doc, but the truth of the matter is, Booth's not here. As a matter a fact, I was just on my way to try to find out where the SOB ended up."

"He's not here?" Brennan asked, this time clear confusion writ on her face. "But, I don't understand. It's the middle of the night. Where would he be?"

Sully shrugged his shoulders slightly and then said, "Honestly? I don't know. Usually, if he's not out getting shit-faced with me, and he's not in the dorm, the only other place he could be is at his apartment. Sometimes he goes there when Rebecca calls―"

"Rebecca?" she mouthed, her voice coming out in a small whisper that was almost no more than a quiet muttering.

However, given how late it was and how quiet the night time surrounding them was, Sully had no difficulty in hearing Brennan's question. Slowly, he nodded his head as he repeated, "Yeah, Rebecca. His ex. Err―well, maybe not so much of an ex in the traditional sense of the word, but more like an ex who was never really an ex to begin with since they're kinda have always had this on again/off again thing. So, maybe it's better to call her one of his friends with benefits, I guess?" He paused and then sighed, "Not that you probably care very much, but Rebecca's always been Booth's Achilles' heel. I thought that maybe when he started the Academy that he'd get his head on straight, meet a great girl that would stop messing with his head and get just beyond the sex with him, but I guess I was just too optimistic about things…just like always."

Sully paused for breath, curious to see a strange look in Brennan's eyes as she was clearly focused on every word he said. Unable to not enjoy the feeling of her rapt attention being concentrated on him, and too far gone from his buzz to question why she'd be so interested in what he had to say, Sully smiled and continued talking. "You see, I'd probably never even tell you this if I was sober, but since I am, and you're here, and it's three o'clock in the middle of the night, and none of this makes any damn sense right―and will probably make even less sense tomorrow morning when I wake up with a bitch of a hangover that I know I'll be nursing―but, I figure what the hell," he said before flashing her a toothy grin. "Here's the 4-1-1 on Seeley Booth. He's my best friend, and I'd do anything for that guy. He's almost like a brother to me. But, one thing that makes him both one of the best guys I've ever met and one of the most idiotic, infuriating, and most boneheaded guys you can ever come across is that whatever Booth does…well, he does it with all his heart. And, he fell in love with Rebecca―if you ask me, just because he's always had this thing from hot chicks with sharp brains and long legs…and, well, Rebecca? She has all that and more, because…well, she's a blonde. And, God knows why, but Booth's always been into blondes more than any other type of girl. It's his defining visual cue, if you know what I mean. So, with Booth's thing for smart chicks with long legs who are blonde…well, he was done as soon as she said yes he could buy her a drink this one time we were all at this club in the Penn Quarter called Gleam. They had a few drinks, started bickering about some bullshit thing, because they've always done this bickering/banter thing that I think is some type of verbal foreplay between them, and before I knew it, Booth was going home with her, and I had to catch a cab ride home. That was―"

Sully looked off in the distance, his eyes narrowing as he wracked his brain for the crucial bit of information he was trying desperately to grasp, and then a smile light up his face as he said, "That was about a year and a half ago. They've been making up and breaking up and messing around with each other, if you know what I mean, ever since. So, I, uhh, if I had to guess where he was right now, I'd say he went to meet Rebecca for another go 'round." He paused again for breath, and then added only as a random thought, "After their last break up a four or five months ago, I figured they were done for good. But, I guess with the stress of the stuff going on at the Academy, he bounced back into bad habits because I know he's been getting laid by someone to take the edge off of things in the last few weeks. Because, if there's one thing I know, it's the difference between when Booth is getting laid and when he's not, and about a month ago…maybe a little bit more, he started getting all doey-eyed and nauseating like he tends to do when he gets all cock-eyed optimistic that _this _time things with Rebecca might go different. I tell you, I've never seen such a hopeless romantic as Booth. When that guy falls, he falls hard, and I guess maybe as far as Rebecca is concerned, he just got KO-ed, and there's no coming back from it."

As Sully continued to spew his font of Booth-related knowledge, Brennan's mind was in a whirl-wind as she tried to make sense of what she was being told. She felt a knot in her stomach begin to tighten with each bit of information that Sully continued to voluntarily add to her stack of data on what type of man Seeley Booth actually was.

'_smart chicks with long legs'_

'_bickering/banter thing….some type of verbal foreplay'_

'_getting laid by someone to take the edge off of things in the last few weeks'_

_Son of a bitch_, Brennan thought, a strangulated voice of anger and pain echoing in her head. _He's…he's just been using me. I don't know why, and frankly I don't care. But, he's just been using me this whole time…while he was really already with this other woman…this Rebecca. _

"―he's always been in love with her," Sully finished, by the time that Brennan refocused on what he was saying. "It's not right or smart or logical…but it's the truth. And, I know that's probably way more than you wanted to hear about the love life of one of your students, but like I said, I'm drunk and rambling more than a bit, so―"

"Thank you, Sully," Brennan said, her head suddenly snapping up as she looked up as Sully and nodded. "I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me."

"Sure," he grinned at her. "No problem. And, when I see Booth, I can tell him that you were looking for him."

Gripping her bag firmly, Brennan's blue eyes hardened a bit as she shook her head vociferously. "No," she told him, the sharpness in her voice quite clear. "That's not necessary. That is, I'd appreciate if you didn't mention that you even saw me. Obviously, Trainee Booth has more than enough demands on his attention right now. Who am I to unnecessarily distract him?" She stopped and then tilted her head as she said, "I'd consider it a personal favor if you'd neglect to mention that we ever even ran into each other and had this conversation…Sully." She stopped and gave him a warm smile to emphasize her point.

What Brennan didn't know was that, as wonderful as the smile had been, she'd had him at the word 'Sully.'

* * *

><p>The sun was almost up, the shadows of what had been a very trying and exhausting night having transitioned to the warm brightness of dawn by the time that Booth―who'd been up most of the previous night walking his colicky son―actually managed to return to his dorm room and crawled into bed. He noticed, with no surprise, that Sully had obviously stumbled into his bed and passed out from what looked to be an alcohol-induced bender at some point during the previous the evening. Sully lay face down on his bed, still in his clothes, his feet still clad in his shoes as they dangled off the edge of the bed, and a puddle of drool collecting on his pillow. He didn't so much as shift in bed or twitch a single muscle when Booth unlocked the door and entered the dark dorm room. Yawning once, Booth could only smile wearily when he took in the sight. He smiled because he knew that Sully wouldn't be making his life difficult at any time in the near future with the barrage of questions that Booth had dreaded having to field from his overtly nosy, if well-meaning, best friend. It appeared the hangover that awaited his best friend upon his awakening from the land of unconsciousness to which Sully had drifted would buy Booth at least a few hours of shut eye before he had to deal with questions about his performance on the exam and subsequent melancholy behavior. Kicking off his own shoes, and stripping down to his St. Christopher medal and boxers, Booth flopped down on his bed and was never more grateful for an off-day as he was in that moment. He stayed awake blinking at the rosy light that pierced the gray shadows of the room's blinds in a few random spots for approximately sixty seconds before he rolled over onto his side, adjusted his pillow, and let exhaustion win as sleep instantly claimed him.<p>

* * *

><p>By the time that Dr. Temperance Brennan left FBI Trainee Tim Sullivan at Quantico, instead of returning to her loft in Georgetown, she headed towards her office at the Jeffersonian Institute. She carried her messenger bag with her, the bag stuffed full of the paperwork, exams, final grades sheet, and all the other materials she had in her possession that related to the forensics unit at the Academy. Brennan had decided she would messenger the exams over to Warner and Kenton first thing in the morning and would handle any final queries about her final grades, assessments, and recommendations via email or telephone. As far as she was concerned, if she never stepped foot at Quantico again, it would be too soon.<p>

In that moment, as Sully's words about his best friend and roommate continued to bounce around her head, all Brennan wanted to do was lock herself in Bone Storage and work until her brain couldn't possibly torture her with various images of Booth having sex with a faceless blonde woman―apparently, the love of his life―when she was just…well, Brennan wasn't certain what she was to Booth except a convenience in that moment. As far as she was concerned, that didn't matter. What did matter to her was the reaction she was having because of Sully's revelations...and the fact that she hated herself for feeling any surprise at learning such truths about Booth.

_You're surprised, and yet you know you shouldn't be. And, that's what galls you the most, _a sharp voice of critique rang out in her head. _Your first instinct regarding that man was never to trust him. You never wanted to get within five hundred feet of him, especially after you got arrested because of him. And, yet, you decided to ignore what logical and reason told you...warned you about as far as he was concerned. You were here…more than willing, quite possibly, to risk your career, personal integrity, and professional reputation for him when you were never anything more to him that a way to pass the time until his true love decided she was ready to take up with him again. And, all for what? A few tumbles with a guy who never valued you as more than a way to pass the time and scratch a few metaphorical itches served up to his psyche by an unsatisfied male libido? Because, that's all it was, Brennan.. for Booth...it was never more than just satisfying some biological imperatives. But, for some reason, even though you should've known that, you chose to look the other way. You ignored your instinct about him because he has great eyes, a killer smile, and a very attractive physical body. It was never more than a game to him. And, you almost fell for it. God, Brennan…how naïve and stupid can someone with your IQ level really be?_

The indignation she'd felt―metamorphosized as it had from the raw hurt that she'd never admit to anyone, let alone herself, over the revelation of what she apparently was to Booth―continued to smolder and bubble just below the surface. Resolved to work in isolation until she'd compartmentalized the entire situation, and no longer had any emotional response to even the mere mention of Booth's name other than that of mild indifference, the last thing Brennan was prepared to face in that moment was to walk into the lab and see it light up like it was five o'clock on a Monday afternoon rather than five o'clock on a Saturday morning. Nor, was she in any way prepared to face what...and who awaited her once she saw what was actually going on in the lab.

Zach, Kenton, Warner, Goodman, and Dr. Wyatt all stood around the platform in animated discussion.

When they saw her, Goodman's eyebrows arched in clear surprise, and he was the first to actually speak. "Dr. Brennan―"

"What's going on here?" she asked, taking her ID card and scanning it in the security check point. She pushed all emotions out of her mind, going on the defensive to what she saw as an invasion to the sacred space of _her_ lab. She bounded up the stairs to the top of the platform and immediately saw a fresh set of remains had been set up on the examination table. Pursing her lips, and tightening her jaw, she stared at each person as she waited for some type of response to her question.

"Fresh remains," Zack finally offered as Brennan's eyes continued to dart from one person to another when the expected explanation was too slow in forthcoming for her. "Related to the FBI's serial killer investigation. Possibly a second victim."

"Why wasn't I called?" Brennan asked, her mind instantly shifting gears and some of her defensiveness melting away as her analytical mind took focus. She took her bag and tossed it on a nearby chair as she reached for a pair of nitrile gloves that Zach already had at the ready.

"We _did_ try calling you," Goodman responded, tilting his head as he studied Brennan's haggard apperance. "Your phone was going straight to voicemail. Since I know how unlike you that is, I assured everyone that it must've been some technical issue like a dying battery. By you're appearance here, I'm happy to see that it appears I was right. I assume that by your timely appearance here that you somehow managed to receive our voicemails about the latest development in the case we're working with the FBI?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Brennan deftly answered her boss's question with a question of her own. Sensing that his star forensic anthropologist was in a mood for some reason―probably being awakened at an ungodly hour for what was a reason unrelated to her traditional anthropological research―Goodman shrugged off Brennan's response.

When Goodman didn't say anything else, Brennan let out a small breath of relief before she paused and then looked at Warner and Kenton as she asked, "Where was this victim found?"

"Half-buried in the muck beneath the George Washington Bridge between the Bronx and Fort Lee, New Jersey," Kenton answered instantly. "The remains just arrived here from New York."

"Why?" Brennan asked, as she approached the remains and began a cursory examination.

"Because," Warner responded. "We believe this is another victim of the same person who murdered James Alexander."

"Based on what evidence?" Brennan asked to no one in particular, as she bent over the table and narrowed her eyes to study the remains.

Warner opened her mouth, but it was Dr. Gordon Wyatt who answered Brennan's question. Reaching out, he placed a light hand on Warner's arm as he said, "We were hoping you might be able to tell us what you could about the victim before we share our suppositions about the case, Dr. Brennan. I'm sure you understand, if we wait to share any possible details we have about the case and the circumstances under which these remains were recovered, as we don't want to necessarily prejudice your analysis."

Looking up from the exam table, Brennan considered Wyatt's words and then nodded her head sharply. "A wise precaution." She stopped and then said, "Very well. Give me twenty minutes, and I'll see what I can discern about your victim here."

"And, tell us if we're dealing with a possible serial killer here?" Warner asked.

As she looked over at the FBI agent, Brennan shrugged. "I'll tell you what the bones say. As for determining the significance of that information, in relation to any criminal investigations, that's something you'll have to accomplish since it's not my job…not anymore."

* * *

><p>-<span>TBC<span>-


End file.
